Tenebrae
by Evie Warner
Summary: Tadashi Hamada lost everything in a single night: his home, his parents, his baby brother. But eleven years later, his world is shaken when robotics prodigy Hiro Tanaka joins SFIT—a boy who strikes an all-too familiar chord within Tadashi.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Guess who saw _Big Hero Six!_ It destroyed me, so I'm coping in the only way I know how: by indulging in fanfiction and writing my own. So here goes!

* * *

**Tenebrae**

**Prologue**

It was a nightmare. A vile, twisted, unnaturally lucid one, but a nightmare nonetheless.

How could it be anything else? This was the kind of travesty that occurred in comic books and manga—a superhero origin, or the brooding team member's backstory—this brand of devastation just didn't occur in reality.

Tadashi was ready to wake up.

He closed his aching eyes and chanted in his head: _this isn't real_. _I'm gonna wake up now_. _Dad'll promise there's nothing to worry about, Mom will hug me, and Hiro_—_he'll laugh at me, but it's okay 'cause he'll be alive and_—

But then he opened his eyes and his heart descended. The earth had cracked open, making way for a portion of hell to merge with the world; the inferno raged on, roaring the chimes of death on the world and stifling the air with oppressive claws of heavy heat. Thick columns of black ascended eternally into the sky, and the stench alone scalded him, a prelude to the flames.

He had no idea where this image originated, how such a violent image could have worked its way into the darkest corners of his subconscious, biding its time to terrorize him as he slept. But it didn't matter, because it was just that: a vivid image locked away within his head, where it couldn't harm anyone else.

Just a dream, a nightmare.

_And I want to wake up now_.

"Tadashi, take your brother and run!"

The crying bundle had been thrust into his arms. And he'd run. Tripped, fallen. Through the smoke and flames, Hiro was gone.

And Tadashi had kept running.

Outside, kneeled over in the bitter cold as he coughed violently, realization snapped back to him piece by piece. The house—_his_ house—was in flames, his mother had woken him up, entrusted him to get himself and his brother to safety, but only Tadashi lay in the damp road, his arms empty and a dawning horror crippling him.

Hiro. His baby brother. Trapped inside the burning building.

"No, _no!_ Hiro—!" He choked on the blistering ashes. Once before, he'd found the crackling of fire to be a comfort during bitter winter evenings, but the mutated embers now mocked him.

_Hiro is still in here_._ Might still have a chance_. _What'cha gonna do?_

He didn't have the time to decide. A chorus of splintering cracks, then in a single, fluid motion, the roof caved-in. An onslaught of heat gushed over Tadashi's shivering form as the house crumpled in on itself, a series of snaps and crunches indicative of its degenerating state.

Someone was yelling, but their voice was dull through the static screech that terrorized Tadashi's eardrums. Lights were flashing red and blue against a thick backdrop of orange and black. Hands were touching him, shaking him, and a panicked voice urged him to speak.

It was irrelevant. Because Hiro was in there. He was tiny, perhaps enough that the debris didn't hit him. They could get him out.

"Hiro."

"Hiro _what?_"

Tadashi glanced up, startled to find a broad-shouldered man at his side, looking at him intently.

"Can you walk, Hiro?"

Hiro. Hiro Hamada. That wasn't his name.

On shaking legs, Tadashi stood up, unconsciously gripping hold of the man's thick jacket. "I-I'm _fine_," he murmured. "I need to go back inside." He took a determined step toward the smouldering debris, but his bones had turned to mush and he crumbled to the glass-ridden concrete.

"Can we get a stretcher?"

Tadashi peered up at him. No, he didn't need a stretcher. He was fully capable of walking; it was a misstep. And he _had_ to walk—Hiro was inside.

"Try not to move, Hiro. You'll be alright."

That wasn't his name! "Tadashi," he muttered as loud as he dared. "My name's Tadashi. Where's my brother?"

The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Your brother?"

"My brother, Hiro. Where is he? Did you get him out?" His voice was high and his eyes stung as burning tears left tracks along soot-stained cheeks. "Hiro Hamada. My little brother. He's still inside. Did you get him out?"

"I need some anaesthetic."

Tadashi turned his head away when he was presented with a breathing mask. What were these people doing? He was _fine_. Why weren't they helping Hiro!?

Then someone sighed and forcefully grabbed his jaw. On impulse, Tadashi felt tempted to bite them, just as Hiro would have. The mask was pressed to his face, eliciting a distressed whine. They were wasting time!

"I got his name. Tadashi Hamada. He asked for his brother, Hiro. Did we clock in a Hiro Hamada?"

The silence dragged on for a second too long, but Tadashi felt too weak to yell at anyone. He sighed into the mask over his mouth and nose, closing his eyes as the voices blurred together into an inaudible fog.

Hiro. His baby brother. Trapped in the burning remains.

_What'cha gonna do?_

-0-

Aunt Cass was a permanent presence. She was there as doctors spoke of scrapes and bruises his body had sustained, and the blow to his head that concerned them.

A concussion, a doctor had said. It was minor and should heal up, but he needed to take it easy for a few weeks.

Yes, that was all fine and mighty, but what happened to Hiro? His parents? Why were those questions ignored?

As the doctors left, Tadashi was prepping himself to get up and search the hospital room by room, but one devastated look from Aunt Cass drained the energy from his body. He slumped back against the pillow, unable to blink or breathe for what felt like an eternity.

Cass sat beside him, her trembling hands gripping his own, and her once bright eyes tainted by despair. "It was an intense fire, Tadashi," she whispered, as though anything higher would shatter them both like glass. "They didn't make it."

It was a nightmare, that was all. A rare and inexplicably detailed one, but he would wake up. He always did.

-0-

The mind was tricky thing. It took delight in deceiving the owner, be it through hallucinations or irrational emotion.

Either way, Tadashi was more than ready to wake up. It had to be a nightmare, it simply _had_ to be. How else did any of this make sense?

Sat in his new bedroom, located in Aunt Cass' home, Tadashi stared down at the object cupped in his hands. She'd bestowed it to him on the day they left the hospital; it was a final, desperate attempt to cut through his shield of denial.

It was an action figure. _Hiro's_ prized possession. He'd snatched it up during a casual stroll through a comic book store and never let go, wailing anytime their mother attempted to prise it from his tiny fingers.

It had been partially melted, but remained in recognizable shape. Recovered from beneath a beam in the rubble of the building.

As Tadashi sat in the darkened room, twisting the misshapen lump between his fingers, he restrained the compelling urge to throw it across the room or smash it against the floor. How did it make sense? This tiny, insignificant object had survived the fire, but his baby brother couldn't ...

**Because you left him.**

Hiro Hamada was three years old, going on four. And Tadashi had sworn to be the best big brother Hiro could ask for. He'd every intent to uphold that promise, come hell or high water.

Their mother had entrusted him to protect Hiro. He'd failed. No, he'd _run away_. Left Hiro behind when his baby brother needed help. Alone, crying, and burning.

Cassandra Hamada was jolted from her uneasy sleep by the cry of pure despair that was ripped deep from her eldest—her _only_ nephew. She ran her hand up and down his hunched back as he threw up his latest nightmare, then helped him wash up and tucked him into bed, combing her fingers through his hair over and over. Choked sobs escaped his chest, and he clung to her steady warmth as she soothed, "It's going to be okay, Tadashi. I'm here. I'll always be here."

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** It isn't all doom 'n gloom throughout. There's happiness on the horizon.


	2. Chapter One

**Author's Note:** *gasp!* What's this? An update! I was on a complete roll in writing these, it's insane. *prays it lasts* A few quick notes are at the bottom, which always seems the best place to put 'em. XD

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**Chapter One**

It was a Tuesday, nothing special about it.

An obnoxious goon milked the so-called "glory" of his latest win, goading any half-hearted punk with a box of scraps to be his next competitor, and she sighed.

Just like every other Tuesday, she found herself questioning the reason _why_. At least the streets _outside_ the back alleys of San Fransokyo provided a fresh challenge. But nope, her evening had her dragged back to the underworld.

Bot-fighting. The embodiment of an overly-ambitious punk's wet dream: robots, hard cash, and rebellion. The Holy trinity, some would say. She, on the other hand, found it a too loud, over hyped, intolerable nightmare.

Maybe she should call the cops, just to end the night on a flare. And if she got a few deserving stragglers banged up this time, well, nothing like a long overdue reality check on the dangers of irrational gambling.

"Can I try?"

Her irritation was overshadowed by budding amusement, and she indulged in a small smirk. Finally, the night was reaching a peak. She'd be home within the hour.

"I have a robot; I built it myself."

Disbelieving silence. And _three_, _two_, _one_ ...

The oaf—Yama—broke the collective pause with a bout of infectious laughter that spread to the surrounding crowd. Hiro shrunk back a little, appearing for all the world as how a fourteen year old _should_ look when lost in San Fransokyo's less desirable districts.

As tiring as his charade was, no one could say he wasn't dedicated. Thus he played the crowd with minimal manipulation. A crumpled wad of cash and Yama inquired, "What's your name, little boy?" with a tone that skyrocketed past 'patronizing.'

"Hiro. Hiro Tanaka."

Not that anyone would believe him.

"Prepare your bot, _Zero_."

They entered the ring, Little Yama—_really?_—on one end, and Megabot on the other. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought Hiro's faux petrification were real as he sat down rigid and meekly imitated the veteran bot-fighter's oh-so intimidating cracks and snaps.

"Two robots enter, one bot leaves. _Fight!_"

The match was so pathetic she nearly cringed, despite herself. As Hiro nervously inquired to go again, she straightened herself up from where she leant against the wall, cocking her hip to one side. Naturally, the genius brat succeeded with the aide of more cash, and the ensuing rematch was vastly more satisfying.

And as it turned out, the obnoxious old-timer proved to be a hypocrite atop it all.

As Hiro gave what he no doubt _thought_ was an innocent smile at the sight of Yama gaping at the dismembered pieces of his prized bot, he practically sang, "No more Little Yama."

"What, _what?_ This is impossible!"

"Hey, I-I'm surprised as you are. Beginner's luck." A statement that would've been halfway convincing if he'd _tried_ to sound as innocent as five minutes prior. He nonchalantly shoveled his winnings into his pack, airily inquiring, "D'you wanna go again?"

He found himself slammed up against the wall not five seconds later.

"_No one hustles Yama!_"

There it was: the sore loser.

She traced her fingers over her wristband, flicking on the concealed switch and relishing the muted buzz, whilst Yama retreated with a grumble of, "Teach him a lesson."

"_Pathetic_."

She supposed it should've surprised her how pitifully easy it was to stop a man in his tracks with a well-aimed jab to his bruised ego. She spat the word with a cocky edge, prompting Yama's enraged face to swerve in her direction.

"Doesn't every man need a code? Tell me what happened to the part about sore losers." From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Hiro's curious, wide-eyed look. Before then, it had always been about the dine and dash. But tonight, she was in need of an outlet. "You're dragging your own reputation through the mud. Some claim you're all about dignity and integrity. Did you clobber them over the heads, too?"

She swore she could hear the metaphorical _click_ in Yama's head.

"_You_—" He pointed a thick finger at her. Oh, _this_ was going to be rich. "—are from Fujitas, aren't you?"

Frankly, no. She had no idea who or what he was referring to. But she cocked her head, playing along. "What gives you that idea?"

"Delinquents, hustlers—all the same!" he spat. Behind him, his three bodyguards cracked their knuckles, awaiting orders like obedient dogs. "What does their messenger have to say this time?"

"Think of it as an insider job. But after that display, it's safe to give them the heads-up that you're old news. Once a man abandons his morals, he's lower than dirt."

Yama appeared affronted for a few moments, then threw back his head and let out a hearty chuckle. "_Morals? _As if they understood the word. They cut you up, burn you in acid. I'll just cut your face." He jerked his head to his lap dogs. "Forget the hustler. Teach _her_ a lesson."

And there it was.

"No, a _kid_. And he beat you fair 'n square. Face it, old-timer. You're washed up. Can't even obey the rules."

Anyone else might've flinched back or caught the brute's fist, but nonchalantly tilting her head aside provided marvelous results. His fist cracked against the brick wall where her head had once resided in front of.

The lap dogs were strong, she didn't doubt. But they lacked the skill to keep up.

"Can't even fling a punch at me yourself? I was exaggerating before, but now I believe I'm justified. Woman up."

He didn't get to respond. But the look of growing fury was washed away by a flurry of red and blue flashes of light, and the piercing wail of a siren.

It was too simple, but oddly gratifying to send the attendants into a panic.

Yama and all three of his lap dogs were momentarily dumb-struck, but the lapse in focus was all she needed. She clasped the hook of her tool above the brute's shoulder and, to his eyes, vanished the next moment. With her mag levs in place, she rocketed forward to circle all four repeatedly, guiding the radius of her rounds by the amount of sturdy wire on her wrist before clipping the final hook in place with practised ease.

It must have been a sight as pathetic as Hiro's faux match, but the tell-tale wail of real sirens kept her from stealing a glance to commit to memory.

In the thicket of her intervention, Hiro had slipped away like sly fox he was, undetected as he tripped the pre-prepared lights. No doubt he stood on the other side of the forming barrier of cars as police swarmed the scene, waiting to see how she could get out of this mess.

It was like the world moved in slow motion, nearly frozen around her just for that moment. Through the thickening barrier of bot-fighters and police cars, she wove effortlessly through the flurry, so quick and precise that no one could give her a second glance.

Her eyes narrowed on Hiro's skinny form standing beneath the non-functioning street lamp, just as discussed. She straightened up, decreasing the momentum to glide onto the pavement, then extended an arm to catch hold of the pole, in unison with Hiro reaching up to catch onto her as she swerved.

In hindsight, the months of idle training dedicated to perfecting that one maneuverer paid off, she decided, as Hiro easily clung to her back like a scheming monkey while she darted off into the night, rapidly gaining distance from prying eyes and too-bright lights.

"Perfect timing as always, Lei. How're those skates handling?"

And there it was.

Gogo skidded to a halt. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging Hiro off before cutting off the power to her mag levs with flick of a switch on her wristband. "It was more fun when they thought I was floating. What's your obsession with miniaturising things?"

Hiro shrugged. "Hey, at least this way you don't have to worry about drawing attention to yourself."

"You used to think that was part of the fun." She gathered up the deactivated disks and slotted them carefully into her pack, ignoring Hiro as he rolled his eyes.

"You didn't have to call the cops, y'know," he grumbled once they set off on foot. "It would've been funnier to just leave them there all tied up."

"Weren't you paying attention? A criminal needs a code, otherwise that'll be you hog-tied in a back alley, humiliated and broke. I'm not big on the idea of visiting you from the wrong side of the bars."

"I _won_, didn't I?"

"Yes. And I'm thinking by now, straight up robbing them would be more efficient. Though if they're willing to hurt kids, I'd say they deserve the humiliation."

It was more than that. Yama was one of the undesirables in the underworld; a power-hungry, sore loser. And she'd been waiting months to dish out long-awaited justice to his overly inflated ego. Now the man had Hiro's name, whether or not he believed it, it would have been stupid to postpone things.

Yes, even more stupid than Hiro offering up his name and face. Unfortunately, her little brother liked to deal in all the wrong shades of recklessness.

"And I'm thinking that _you_—" He jabbed her arm. "—had fun tonight. C'mon, after all the work I did on your skates and you _still_ can't manage a thank you? One of these days, my genius will be recognised."

"It'll come the day you get out of the back alleys and crank out some fresh ideas."

"And to do _that_, I need to get my creative juices flowing—" He faltered at her grimace. "Okay, bad wording, but you saw the horde tonight! Mediocre at best, but all different kinds. Plus hey, easy money."

As he flashed a neat roll of notes to prove his point, Gogo glanced down at him, slowly raising an eyebrow. "It's times like these that I feel ashamed to call you my brother," she drawled, decidedly ignoring his pout. "This is why child prodigies end up flipping burgers for a living and falter when it comes to rowdy customers. Because everything up until then was _easy_."

"Since when do you get on my back over challenges? If I recall correctly, our deal was that you don't say a word about the bot-fighting as long as it's my choice and I do it well. Difficulty wasn't a part of it."

"I thought it was a given."

Hiro had the gall to titter. "And _that_ was your mistake. Never assume anything unless you have proof, otherwise you know nothing."

"Tamper with my project, and now you plagiarize my words? Shame on you."

"I took an idea and I made it _better_." For emphasis, he patted the contents of her pack. "You're always complaining about how it's not fast enough. Hand in the skates, get top marks, and you're free for the rest of the semester. Think about it, Lei—video games, BMX-ing, all that sleep."

"_Or_ you could concoct an original idea and gain righteous credit. I know it's a stretch for you, but the alternative is managing a sushi joint."

"I choose option three: I'll do things I enjoy and cherish the fond memories of my adolescence."

"About bot-fighting? Where it's equal opportunities face smashing against a brick wall?" She shook her head. "Keep it up. You'll lose your two front teeth before you're sixteen."

"Seems a little light. Last week you were telling me to save up for the inevitable nose job."

"I never said stop."

Once back on their street, Gogo pulled her hood over her head, both concealing her identity and cranking her shadiness points up a few levels. But if that was the price to pay for avoiding detection from high-strung neighbours, so be it. And besides, half the competent cops in San Fransokyo were hauling in half the wannabe Yukaza; it was a two in one.

Speaking of, that event would either inspire Hiro to return to the arena ASAP or up the price for his head. If not both.

Inwardly, Gogo sighed. Why did actions have to bring consequences?

Moving through the shadows, the two ducked and dodged the odd prying eyes of watchful, gossiping neighbours. As late as it was, paranoia bred from crippling naivety was infectious amongst sheltered stepford smilers. She boosted Hiro over the brick wall, following herself as Hiro took the lead, strolling across the too-perfect lawn. Though once they approached the house, he stepped aside, holding his arms out in a show of mock-chivalry.

"Ladies first."

One after the other, they climbed up the sturdy lattice that wound up the side of the building, which conveniently paved a ladder to Hiro's open bedroom window.

Gogo was perpetually torn between viewing it as a good or a bad thing. On one hand, it made escape attempts a piece of cake. On the other hand, exactly that. And given her own years of teenage rebellion, she spent nights wondering if the design flaw was inexplicably her parents' way of encouraging Hiro's dubious hobbies.

If anything, it discouraged Hiro from piecing together an outrageous mecha he'd intended to have built to lift them up several stories. Gogo had drawn a firm line on that one.

"_It's conspicuous_._ You'd be found out_._ Always take advantage of a lucky coincidence, but don't push your luck_."

Hiro had pouted for a solid week, but he stuck to his half-hearted promise.

"Sweet haul tonight," he was murmuring as she crept across the hall to her own room. "Still can't believe it worked, though—I didn't actually expect them to take the bait, but who's complaining, right?"

Gogo waited until they were safely on the other side of her door, clicking it shut before responding, "Victory for the little guy. Hurray. I've done my part. For the love of God, no more bot fights for at least a week, got it?"

Across the room, sat on a chair with his sneakers propped up on her desk, Hiro inquired, "Why? You scared of facing revenge?" His smug smirk was downright punchable.

"Tired. Of your shenanigans. Some of us actually work to get where we are."

Hiro shrugged, crossing his ankles. "My offer stands, y'know."

"Pass." Gogo shrugged off her jacket, tossing it over _her_ chair before running a hand through her hair. "Sleep, Hiro. I don't want to hear your voice for at least twelve hours."

"Yeah, sleep sounds so good. See, I can nap whenever I like. It's one of the many benefits of no-college-commitment. But if you insist—_ow!_" It didn't remotely hurt, but a having a pillow launched at one's face tended to elicit a yelp of surprise. Hiro clapped a hand to his cheek as the pillow slumped to the floor. "There are laws about child abuse, you know."

"No bruises, no claim. They wouldn't believe you."

"Yeah, but I can do _this_."

Gogo didn't bother concealing the roll of her eyes as Hiro widened his own to a degree that put puppy-dogs to shame, twiddling his hands together and appearing to the world as a lost little cinnamon bun who had to be protected, no matter the cost.

"_And_ my record is clean, thank you very much," he resumed, dropping the façade. "I have the courts on my side for this one."

"Too bad I'm not opposed to blackmail."

Hiro snorted. "I'd believe you, if only you weren't so noble."

"Is that a challenge?"

He held his hands up in mock-innocence. "Not at all. I admire your morals. That itself puts you above Yama."

"Oh _joy_," she drawled, rolling over to stuff her face into her pillow. God, she was really beginning to feel those all-nighters. And love aside for her brother, Hiro's smug face and _I told you so_ attitude at the end of each day hadn't provided much of a stamina boost past the urge to wring his neck. "That makes it all worthwhile."

"God, college is sucking the fun right outta you. Remember when we used to revel in the win?"

"Good _night_, Hiro."

Though she knew he was smiling, Hiro had the courtesy not to chuckle at her exhaustion. "I love you, too, Lei. I appreciate you helping me out tonight."

And finally, _finally_ she was left alone.

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Tadashi and Gogo's number one priority would be Hiro's safety, especially given his little hobby. But while in canon, Tadashi did his best to discourage Hiro from bot-fighting, I'd say Gogo would go about things differently. She doesn't approve of his dubious hobbies, but she allows it on the condition she goes with him—she remembers her own years of teenage rebellion / boredom, and Hiro is stubborn as a mule on the best of days. Forbidding a teenager is a guarantee to get 'em to do it. So she's sticking to his side to keep him safe. (Plus Hiro was on board with Tadashi taking him bot-fighting—why would Gogo taking him be any different?)

**Quick Note:** Gogo often brings her bike home to tamper with. It led to Hiro "borrowing " one of the discarded prototype wheels and whipping up a project of his own, thus Gogo has her mag levs so they can make a quick escape from bot-fights without appearing conspicuous the whole time during.

Whew, okay. I'm satisfied. Following this one, chapters will be longer. (Though originally, this one had a snippet with Tadashi. Problem was, it felt tacked on however I went about it. So I thought "screw it" and scrapped the scene.)


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:** If Tadashi had a nickname, Hiro never used it. Thus Hiro calls his big sis by her real name. And yes, I'm sticking with Leiko Tanaka instead of Ethel. Partially 'cause I like it more, but also 'cause it doesn't seem far-fetched for a girl born and raised in San Fransokyo to have a name of Japanese origin, regardless of nationality. Happens enough in real life, no?

(Also, in regards to Hiro, it's like in canon: the "nerd crew" knows _of_ him, but they've never met him. Yet ... )

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Hiro loved only one thing more than bot-fighting and extra spicy ramen, and that was sneaking in to wake his sister up at an ungodly hour.

_Yes_, Gogo was unnaturally busy during the weekdays with her scheduled assignments, and she deserved the chance to sleep in during her coveted time off, but what kind of a younger brother would Hiro be if he didn't incessantly disrupt his older sister's rare moments of peace?

And that was how he wound up back in her room eight hours into his banishment, clapping his hands and yanking the blinds open.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! The day is young!"

The blanket-wrapped bundle on the bed, otherwise known as Leiko Tanaka, shifted grumpily, muttering threats of disembowelment and the hiding of spare parts.

Any other morning, Gogo would have emerged from her blanket cocoon to grab the nearest object and decapitate her brother on the spot, but it was her first day off after Hiro's visit to the lower bot-fighting rings, which came on the brink of the completion of a final project that had devoured her brain over too many sleepless nights.

So instead, without opening her eyes, she shimmied under the duvet to burrow deeper into the warm lair.

"No, no!" Oh _god_, Hiro had found a stick. Punctuating every syllable with a prod against her back, he said, "Remember our promise? I be a good boy and get home without a detour through a jail cell, and _you_ dedicate your first day off to me."

"Whatever happened to my twelve hours of peace?" she mumbled into her mattress.

"That got boring. Give me credit; I held off for eight hours. Theoretically, your body and mind have been rested, and you should be full of energy."

Eight hours. That put the morning at nine A.M. at the earliest. And Hiro's thrill-seeking instinct had made him suicidal. Oh, _joy_.

"I put some thought into your skates. Nothing says 'prepared' like a back-up set. See, we could have smaller disks clipped to the skates—it makes for the perfect weapon if you need an unforeseen attack weapon. Plus, shields! Half those guys'll be expecting you to duck, so you'll throw 'em for a loop and they'll be punching steel. Look me in the eyes and tell me that isn't anything other than brilliant, am I right?"

If anyone asked, Gogo would wholeheartedly deny that she'd been about to relent and (possibly) beg him to leave her alone before a literal _angel_ (a.k.a. their mother) announced her presence by slamming the door open.

"_Hiro Tanaka_, what have I told you about tormenting your sister?"

Any deviousness promptly abandoned him. "Wha—you never told me not to—"

"Trick question, Hiro! I shouldn't have to."

Gogo wasted no time in smothering a pillow over her face to drown out the lecture her mother relocated to the hallway. She cursed the faint pangs of sympathy that tugged on her heart. No, no. She was past showering leftover crumbs of sympathy in Hiro's direction _after_ he'd blatantly thrown her own comfort out the window.

This was her small victory, and semi-conscious she may be, Gogo was going to relish it.

It was a vicious cycle: in varying shades, Hiro took a red-hot poker to her collection of berserk buttons. It was bitter irony that _this_ was where his creativity thrived.

Though as childishly brutal as his playtime was, inevitably, he bent over backwards to pay his due. Thus far, his more extreme methods had spanned everywhere from buying a bulk pack of her favourite gum (that she was still working through), to spiking her least-admired professor's coffee with laxatives on spontaneous test day, to hacking down the cherry blossom tree outside her window to ward off the family of sparrows who broke into chorus too loud, too early. Every single day.

Sure enough, after finally dragging herself out of bed and pattering downstairs, she entered the kitchen to find Hiro perched at the dining table, nursing her favourite coffee mug. _The groveling begins_.

"I know what you're gonna say: _you're a rotten little cheat, Hiro_. _If there was a way to access the extra ninety percent of my brain to snap your neck telepathically, I'd have made it possible_. But I want you to consider this: everything that I do, it's because of love."

"That includes torture?"

He gave a one-armed shrug, then leaned back in his chair to prop his feet on the table. "Y'know what they say, sis. Love hurts."

"Wow. Does that mean I'm obligated to rip you limb from limb to express the extent of my affection?"

"_Or_ you could consider the charges for first-degree murder of a minor."

"Out there, a bleeding heart lawyer would take my case." She plucked the coffee jug from the canister, filling her mug with the rich-scented brew. "I see what you mean, though. I've never felt so loved."

"Told you!" He smiled brightly, outstretching his arms. "Now c'mere, gimme me a hug!"

With a smirk, Gogo extended an arm, coiling it loosely around his neck and tensing with a mock _crk!_, leaving Hiro rolling his eyes.

"Fine, fine," he sighed with no small air of melodramatics. Sliding his feet from the table, he propped his elbows there instead to rest his chin in his palms. "Though by your standards, I must be your favourite person in the world."

"Pushing your luck, Hiro."

"Seriously, lemme make it up to you. I'll be your personal crash test dummie for the afternoon, what'dya say?"

Tempting, so tempting. If Hiro crash landed in the flowerbed and broke his legs, she could rest easy in the absence of bot fights. Then again, if he flew over the handlebars and broke his neck, she'd be looking at a brother-free lifetime with a side order of guilt.

As always, conscience won out.

"If you insist, I _did_ take your considerations to heart," she relented. "It fits that I give you the right to test them out."

Mouth hidden behind the rim of her mug, Gogo allowed a small smirk to grace her lips as Hiro lit up. There was only so much gum at her disposal before laxatives and "borrowed" chainsaws lost their extremity.

Thirst for revenge ran in the blood, after all.

-0-

The park was unexpectedly barren, all things given. Stragglers and too-hyped kids aside, the arched path had been pleasantly neglected. With her skates activated and protective headgear on, Gogo positioned herself in a crouch as Hiro mantled the bike, slotting his own helmet on.

"Two laps," she breathed. "Every Tanaka for themselves."

"Still feeling that love, sis?"

Through her dark-tinted visor, Gogo mirrored Hiro's smirk. "On the count of three," was the order. But in long-standing tradition, they both took off before the countdown struck two.

The concrete paving was impeccably smooth, making the perfect foundation to glide over on electromagnetic wheels. With well-dispensed stamina and month's worth of experience, Gogo snagged first place with minimal effort, tempted to whip off her helmet to throw a taunting grin back at her brother.

Hiro, however, beat her to it as he kicked the bike into first gear, pounding against the pedals and catapulting into first place. "Eat my dango dust, Leiko!"

Gogo wedged her gum between her back teeth. When the hell did Hiro install an invisible, built-in rocket launcher? It was her job as an older sibling to beat the little brat at everything out there, and her reputation was in legitimate danger. Still, she had prepared for this weeks in advance, cramming in development during the snippets of free time her jam-packed schedule allowed.

Arching forward, Gogo increased the power behind her thrusts, closing a margin of the distance between herself and the tail-end of her bike. Any second now, and ...

The ground out _squeak_ of rubber against the disk was music to her ears. Smirking, Gogo overran the bike's decreasing speed, the wheels of which dragged back to a halt, like the concrete path had morphed into glue. As a baffled Hiro continued pedaling, unknowingly condemning his loss, Gogo swerved her skates sideways as she overtook him, gliding to a controlled stand-still past their makeshift finish line.

Safety measures; a self-activating back-wheel brake should the designated speed be exceeded. Wouldn't deactivate until the pedals and wheels had come to a halt. Hiro had spent months insisting she added the feature, piling on the guilt of the "daunting horror" that was being an only child. And Gogo felt it only necessary that her _precious little brother_ tested out the feature first-hand.

Now _this_ was sufficient justice.

Gogo removed her helmet, relishing the rush of wind through her hair as she glided back to Hiro's side, forcefully holding the look of innocence on her face.

"W-wait a minute, I was miles ahead," he was stammering, "who or _what_ slowed me down?"

On second thought, it wasn't worth it. Unabashed, Gogo indulged in an open smirk. "If I recall, _you_ were the one who recommended brakes."

_Oh yes, my reputation stands_, Gogo decided, as she was promptly tackled into the bushes whilst cackling past her gum, all the while Hiro whaled on her for being a rotten _cheat_ and screeched in the loss of his hard-earned victory.

-0-

On some level, Tadashi knew it was futile. But that didn't mean he was willing to throw in the towel and stew in a pit of despair and self-loathing. His parents had encouraged him never to cave-in, to understand that life was difficult, but it was always worth living.

And Hiro—if he had the ability to string the words together—would've whacked him over the head with his sippy cup and demanded he walked out the door with his head held high.

Today wasn't special. Just marked by the anniversary; the eleventh in a never-ending line. A full decade of well-hidden grieving was more than enough. He could do this.

Just as he had in the three hundred and sixty four days before it, Tadashi Hamada got out of bed to start up the morning routine. It was soothing, almost, to go through the motions of showering and brushing his teeth, reassuring to wear jeans and a cardigan sweater rather than pull out a fresh pair of PJs.

Identical to any other day.

He took deep, deliberate breaths as he walked down the stairs, managing not to falter at the stunned look Aunt Cass wore at his appearance. Oh wow, he couldn't do this. It was too soon, no one would judge him if he turned on his heel and crawled back into bed, they'd understand ...

"Tadashi," his aunt tried, wringing the dish cloth in her hands. "Look, no one is expecting you to try today. I was thinking we could both take the day off to relax. Maybe order out, see what's on TV, and forget the world outside exists."

_Yes_, he wanted to say. Because the thought of San Fransokyo functioning, oblivious to the tragedy that stained the date, wasn't right. He could close the windows, turn up the volume, burrow under his duvet and pretend the world had ceased spinning to spare presenting him the daunting confliction of _existing_ on that day alone.

Except that day wasn't special.

"It's been eleven years, Aunt Cass," were his words instead. "That's enough time to grieve, I think."

It was clear from her expression that she intended to say something, but after a moment of inward confliction, she managed a small smile. "Then we'll have a good day today, yeah? I'll even make us a special dinner for when you get home. Those chicken wings we like, you know, with the hot sauce that makes our mouths numb?"

As the dulled voice continued urging him to stay, Tadashi smiled. Just like any other day.

-0-

Despite herself, Gogo felt increasingly tempted by Hiro's offer. Hand in the skates, and _boom!_ she was done with the semester. (Un)fortunately, her stubborn sense of pride kept her from straying towards the immoral path. That, and her ego would never recover from granting her brother bragging rights for the remainder of their lives. And likely the afterlife, too.

She pedaled slowly (by her standards) along the path, which was mercifully smooth from start to finish. Electro magnetic suspension was perfect for flat tracks, but anything outside was a delicate balance. If the field was solid enough to prevent the wheels flying off at every miniscule bump, then there was no spring to the suspension. All in all, the wrong path could make the ride torture.

The nano-second she stepped in the lab, that would be her first priority. Screw it if the upgrades took all day.

As Gogo burst through the doors of the lab, bystanders scrambling aside as she swerved into her station, she dismounted the bike before she'd come to a complete stop. With one hand removing her helmet and the other hoisting the bike to the suspension hook, she observed her incomplete project with distain. It was fast, but nowhere near satisfactory. And the stability was laughable.

"Ooh, that is _not_ a happy face, Gogo."

On cue, the bubbly blonde Gogo swore had been programmed to dissipate the slightest negative imbalance made herself known. She plucked her earphones out, her usual bright smile only marginally dimmed by concern.

"Not much to be smiling about." Gogo traced her pinky finger over the rim of the disk. "Until I find a means to combine spring suspension with electromagnetism."

Maybe downscaling _was_ the right way about it, but tiny wheels on a bike defined the opposite side of practicality.

"Oh, man. You ladies hit a brick wall on this one, huh?" And like an ignorant bug to ultra-violet, there was Fred. Unsurprisingly clad in his mascot gear, he flipped the headpiece up, his face a mockery of concentration. "_But_ never fear, for as long us folks have a passion for science, no realm of the impossible shall be so. It's just like Tadashi always says: you gotta look for a new angle."

"Quoting him while he's not here just highlights his absence, Fred. Don't you have a seven-eleven to advertise?"

"I'm a little offended, Gogo. You make it sound like I'm a nuisance."

At the new voice, Gogo quirked an eyebrow. Speak of the devil, Tadashi had materialized today, of all days. That is, unless the lack of sleep had caused her to skip a full date. She frowned, shooting a discreet glance at the nearby calendar. No, her initial assumption had been correct.

"'Dashi, my man!" Fred, gleeful as ever, was the first to respond. "Joining the land of the living! Not to say I'm unhappy, I mean, Gogo is need of a serious pep talk, man. Get over here and do your thing."

With a loud _pop_ of gum, Gogo glowered at the mascot. "Hold the anime speeches. I _need_ to sleep for more than twelve hours. _Then_ I'll work on replacing my blood with caffeine."

Tadashi winced in sympathy. "Ouch. Another all-nighter?"

"All without the satisfaction of production."

"And that translates to ... ?"

Fred's eyes lit up. "Oh, lemme guess! The prodigal son snuck out again?"

She didn't deny it, but her deadpan expression as she turned back to her station was the confirmation he needed.

"Bot fighting?" Tadashi guessed. He strolled over to the work station, leaning against a counter. "If it's as bad as you say, then there has to be a way to keep an eye on him. Sounds like he's going to get himself arrested, if not worse."

"What would you suggest; that I bug the kid?" She spat her wad of gum into the trash. "He'd find out, do something reckless to spite me, and end up getting his head smashed in. And that's if we're lucky."

"Y'know, my parents had the exact same discussion during my coming-of-age period," Fred interjected. "See, it's all about knowing when to cut the umbilical cord. Give the kid space; let 'em find themselves. You don't have to like what they're doing, but'cha gotta let 'em know you trust them."

"Rebellious phases tend to be worse the more you attempt to rein it in," Honey added in. "Because even then, the kid will wind up in situations they don't like. But they'll do it because of petty revenge."

Fred beamed. "_Exactly!_ So might I say, I think you're doing an awesome job, Gogo. The little man is lucky to have you."

Over her shoulder, Gogo gave him a sharp look. "Compliments won't build you a shrink-ray."

"Hey, isn't science all about pushing boundaries? How does one _know_ it's no possible without trying it, huh? Think about that one!"

-0-

It was late. A little too late, if he was honest. Outside, the campus was cast in darkness, illuminated orbs scattered as far as he could see.

The sight wasn't abnormal; how many long nights had he spent in that lab, going over the same analysis over and over until he got it _just right?_ He dreaded to think.

But once again, it was nothing of concern. Strenuous as those all-nighters were, they were nothing out of the ordinary. And that was the _point_.

Tadashi sighed. Usually, he worked best during the night. Something in the blend of seclusion and the faint murmur of his friends' voices past the doors, knowing he was alone by choice and just poking his head out the door would change that—be it through Honey or Fred's unwavering affection, Wasabi's mother-hen mode, or Gogo's endearing, if unwitting pep talks—was an unwavering comfort in itself.

But now, it was a chore to consider working on his magnum opus, even a mundane task, such as restocking Baymax's supply of lollipops.

He sighed again, rubbing the back of his stiff neck. Maybe it was in his best interest to call it a night. He'd done something productive, just as intended. And Aunt Cass was probably waiting for him to return, getting increasingly worried the further he attempted to stall it off—

—but as Gogo's yell pierced through the fiber doors, somehow Tadashi felt like his options just sharply decreased.

-0-

Leiko Tanaka had little tolerance for blatant idiocy, but that didn't mean she was an unreasonable woman. Disobeying authority was one thing; diving head-first into the shallow end was another.

Thus, she felt her desire to hit something (or some_one_, no names given) was entirely justified in the span of a single phone call.

Tossing aside the tool she'd "borrowed" from Wasabi's system, Gogo brought her cell phone to her ear. "If this involves bot-fighting or mad love, I'm not interested, Hiro."

"No, no! I—_ah!_—have a bit of a situation here—!"

Any irritation at her updated project dissolved as Gogo felt a frown contort her features. "How drastically will this make me react?"

"Well, if that's a-_an_ offer, I'd rather keep my organs _far away_ from the Yukaza."

He'd screwed up. Oh, Hiro had screwed up **big time.** With her free hand, Gogo tore her bike from its suspension hook, forgoing her helmet as she stormed across the lab, kicking the door open as she demanded, "_Where are you?_"

"South district. You were out, so I went bot-fighting—"

"_Alone?_ We had a deal, Hiro! I'm coming to get you. Try and stay alive."

She stuffed her phone into her back pocket, ignoring a bewildered Tadashi investigating the commotion as she mounted her bike and took off down the hall. In the back of her mind, Gogo thanked whichever contractors for paving the campus ground so smoothly and her own chance-in-a-million foresight in making experimental upgrades to her bike's suspension.

Yes, her night seemed destined to end with her bloodied and bruised in the middle of San Fransokyo with handlebars impaling her lungs, but it was a preferable fate to how she predicted Hiro would wind up within ten minutes.

Speaking of whom, her brother had _seriously_ over-stepped the line. Bot-fighting she would condone. He knew that. Marching into the crime-world without an escape plan, to be surrounded by deadbeats who had motivation to gauge his eyes out, _that_ was the source of her concern.

Shit, _shit_, **shit!**

Gogo made a beeline through the traffic, her instincts honed by years of playing chicken just for kicks. Her bike was stable, if only enough to withstand the irregular bumps and cracks in the road, but if it was a one-time deal, she wasn't complaining.

The south district. She recalled the weeks spent there in the early stage of Hiro's little career, where he observed from the backseat and planned maliciously. And she'd _encouraged_ him to be reckless. How _fitting_ that the best memories of bot-fighting threatened to become the stage for the worst.

But Gogo dashed the thoughts as she zipped along the familiar roads, turning sharply into the narrow alleyway. _Please don't tell me they relocated_. No, there it was! And following the yelps and crashes leading to a dead-end, she found a sight that churned embers through her stomach.

_Damn it, Hiro_. _Who did you piss off this time?_

In a mockery of the previous night, three oversized men were closing in on the corner, in which a visibly shaken Hiro had been backed into, fenced off by a barrier of hulking muscle.

_Damn it_, Gogo cursed. She should've brought her skates, or at least a heavy bat. Or _something_ she could pummel these guys with. If only she'd gotten here fast enough—

With practised ease, Gogo flipped the bike on its handles. She snatched one of the wheels, yanked it free and turned, flinging the disk as she'd done countless times with dozens of prototypes.

Like all the others, the disk hit its mark.

The targeted goon staggered forward as the back of his neck was struck, the momentum throwing him into his partner-in-crime, whose lack of balance sent them both to the ground. As the disk clattered a few feet away, Gogo dashed forward, snatching it up as the third goon spun round at the chaos, proving the opening she needed to slash the disk sideways along his cheek.

It was hardly sharp, but the force which had propelled it promised to leave a hideous gash. Stunned by the pain, his meaty hands instinctively clamped over his face, and Gogo felt it only necessary to ram her heel into his crotch.

Again, brute force was all she needed. But _one day_, she swore she'd learn to run in steel-tipped stilettoes.

Hiro, backed into the corner, stared up at her with disbelieving eyes and a distinct blemish across his jawline.

Gogo felt her blood boil at the sight. Oh, these pieces of trash were _lucky_ she had neither a bat nor stilettoes.

"Leiko—"

"Explanations later. We're _leaving_."

He didn't question her authority. Gathering up his discarded bot, Hiro tailed her out of the alleyway, past the two pain-crippled goons as the third, still pinned under his less-fortunate partner, spat obscenities as he thrashed beneath the dead weight.

Gogo gripped the rim of the disk, managing not to envision Hiro's neck as a substitute. Of all the idiotic shenanigans his impulsive brain cooked up, this really took the trophy. What could have possessed him—?

A deafening _bang!_ cracked from down the dank alleyway, and the brick wall splintered inches from Hiro.

He staggered with a yelp as Gogo swore violently, her hand sharply tugging his hood as he glanced round wildly, catching a fleeting glimpse of the goon kicking his stunned partner from his being and scrambling to his feet, clutching the discriminating weapon in hand.

Hiro lurched forward in unison with the tug, swerving round the corner with Gogo in tow. She gripped the fabric with such force he'd have been in danger of asphyxiation had his hoodie been zipped up. Or had Gogo's other hand not been clutching the dismantled wheel with crippling force.

His eyes widened. "Lei—your bike!"

The bike. _Shit_. On foot, there was no way she could nip back and retrieve it in time. With a heavy groan, Gogo relented her grip on Hiro's hoodie to latch onto his upper arm, yanking him along. It was his safety, or the bike's. No contest.

"I'm cutting my losses. Now _run_."

For once, she was grateful they'd been in that area before. Though her memory was vague, mentally she had roughly mapped out forgeable escape routes for future reference. Together, they detoured through a web of alley ways and swerved through blaring traffic, hearts beating up a frenzy as more shots rang out in succession, progressing steadily quieter each time.

Hiro didn't think he'd ever be so relieved to step back into San Fransokyo's more reputable districts. Through the sheen of sweat and dry gasps, he thanked the years spent honing his stamina by simply growing up alongside Gogo—especially given she didn't appear inclined to offer to carry him home, skates or no.

"You hurt?"

Despite dashing across San Franksokyo in a blind panic, Gogo looked remarkably composed, her chest heaving with controlled breaths in comparison to Hiro's cherry-red cheeks and sweat-soaked forehead. He wiped the cuff off his hoodie across his face, gulping down lungful's of the chilly night air. "I-it's nothing. Really, I could run another ten miles."

With the words out in the open, Hiro cursed himself in every language he knew as Gogo's demeanor darkened. _I should have lied more_. Her fist collided roughly with his shoulder, eliciting a muffled groan as he bit down on his sleeve.

"Quick tip about revenge, Hiro: it only works when you have a plan. Did _you_ have a plan, or do you _want_ to be cut up and left on the side of the road to asphyxiate on your own vomit?"

It was irrational, he knew. Gogo had a stockpile of reasons to be furious, but the rough dagger wounds her words pierced served to increase his own rage. "Well, at least there'd be enough of me to cram into a body bag; nobody would be scraping _my_ puréed intestines off the freeway!"

Low blow, holy _shit_, low blow! Hiro flinched at his own words as Gogo faltered, a hint of her shock and a twist of betrayal peeking out as her mask faltered. His anger drained from him to make way for horror as half a second too slow, her composure snapped back into place.

" ... it's not too late to get yelled at before we hug it out?"

Not for the first time, Gogo's stoic mask was melded on so protectively, he hadn't the faintest clue as to the true emotion dominant behind it. Though from her weary sigh and the fingers massaging the bridge of her nose, he decided that defeat was overpowering the brunt of fury.

"Fine," she decided, dropping her hands. "You win. Happy, now?"

No, Hiro was as far from happy as it got. "I'm sorry, Lei. Really that—that wasn't even low, that was 'sneaking up beneath you, smashing your brains out, and stomping you six feet under'."

"How bad did they get you?"

Failure to acknowledge his meek apology: a direct result of her disappointment or betrayal. Either way, it rubbed salt and lemon juice in his self-inflicted knife wound.

"I-I'm fine, Leiko. Just ... the shock, is all."

With the immediate concern dissipated, Gogo's closed her steely eyes. "Karma can only be evaded for so long." She pressed a hand to her forehead, chest heaving with slow, deliberate breaths. "This is why we had a deal, Hiro," she hissed. "Those jerks had a _gun_—why did you sneak away like that?"

"Lei—"

"_No_. Forget it. We're going home."

"Can I at least explain?"

Too late, it seemed. For the first time in five years, Gogo was dealing him the silent treatment. And childish as it was, Hiro felt his heart sink. He'd screwed up, that much was clear. For her to shut down completely ... she hadn't reached that level of fury since that time he lit up her favourite roller blades on the portable barbeque.

Opting out of jabbing the sleeping lion with a sharp stick, Hiro kept his lips sealed and his eyes fixed upon the ground as they hiked across the city. It was a heavy silence, oppressive enough that he felt it clogging his airways with each breath he took. He couldn't take it anymore.

Quietly, as if his voice would trigger an unstoppable rage (which was likely true), Hiro inquired, "Leiko?"

More silence. Gods, and she called _him_ immature.

Tentatively, Hiro edged closer to nudge her shoulder. "Hey, I'm talking, here."

Her "answer" was a simple _pop_ of her gum.

"Well, I'm gonna keep talking, so this is your only chance to listen. I know I should've told you, but I thought about the whole _testing my limits_ speech you gave me, and I thought 'why not give it a go?' 'cause I'll be honest, bot-fighting is on me, but the escaping part is easy because you're doing it for me—"

"It's not about bot-fighting, Hiro." He glanced up at her, finding Gogo's gaze remained fixed up ahead. "It's about compromise. I let you go bot-fighting and keep mom and dad from finding out. In return, I'm with you every step of the way. _That_ was our deal."

" ... sorry about your bike."

"Be sorry about your _face_. Which one did that?"

Hiro winced at the reminder, the wound beginning to throb. While he'd managed to catch Gogo on speed dial before the sore losers had rallied up, he'd expelled too many karma points to avoid all the hits once he'd taken a wrong turn. "Out of the ones you crippled, crushed, and castrated? Let's just hope the Neanderthal wasn't planning on breeding."

"I _knew_ there was a reason I felt compelled to do that." She smirked, but another look at Hiro and it faltered. "Consider it karma. Break your end, and I can't keep mind."

Slow pace be damned, Hiro skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with horror. "Whoa, what? No, no, no! You can't do this—mom and dad'll ship me off to military school. You know they'll do it!"

"It's a little out of my hands. You're a minor and I don't have the med skills." She frowned. Yes, it was _stupid_ of Hiro, and karma was taking a long overdue bite out of his ass, but when their parents had brochures stashed at home ...

"But I'll make you a deal." She suppressed the urge to smile as hope lit up his face. "I can cut you loose one more time. If you stay away from bot-fighting for a month, then mom and dad won't need to know a thing."

The shock swam back to his irises. "A _month!?_"

"Consider it a _light_ punishment."

Hiro was geared up for an argument, that much was obvious. But a few fierce moments of simmering and rational reconsideration, he released the breath he was holding, seeming to deflate as he did. "Deal."

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter: Hiro and Tadashi (plus Baymax) meet. Also, the remaining nerd crew. Beyond that, questions will be answered.

Also, I'd say this is where the ultra-speedy updates end. Tomorrow onwards, life will begin to feast on every scrap of free time I have. _But_ since I already have a good start on the next chapter (and the one after that), it won't be an abysmally long wait.

Though in the meantime, PLEASE let me know what you think. Every review / favourite / follow makes my heart flutter. XD


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:** To the South, we have Hiro and Tadashi interaction. And Gogo being devious! (Ever realize how difficult it is writing Baymax when he dips into the medical mumbo jumbo? 'Course this is coming from a girl who knows zero medical terms. *nervous laughter* Please excuse my awkward Google'd knowledge.) I lifted a little dialogue from the film, but given it serves a purpose ... I hope no one minds.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

As a science major, Tadashi was skeptical by nature. He'd been taught to question the _why_, to dig deep and figure out the _how_, but he'd never been landed in a situation that confronted him with the _what_.

**Brat got banged up. Need a fix-up. I owe ya.**

But then, maybe he'd been giving Gogo a little too much credit. She'd always been fiercely independent, patching up her own wounds despite the highly qualified medical staff on site, so tight-lipped in regard to her personal life that it was shamefully easy to forget she had a family to speak of. That is, except for periodic rants she muttered under her breath, each revolving around her elusive little brother.

Hiro Tanaka. Child genius. Certified bot fighter.

And at long last, Gogo was dragging the living legend in by his earlobe. She'd made a hasty exit from the lab less than half an hour ago, leaving suspicion and worry in her wake, before Tadashi's phone had buzzed to life, declaring her need for Baymax's assistance.

So Tadashi leant against the counter in Honey Lemon's lab, whilst the blonde herself flitted about, positively delighted at the prospect of meeting Gogo's younger brother. Wasabi had been considerably more restrained, gripped with anxiety at the confirmation there was a boy out there with the ability to rile up the adrenaline junkie and live to tell the tale, blood relative or not. (To say nothing of such a person tampering with his system—as though one Tanaka wasn't enough!) Fred, however, was fixated on the possibility of Hiro being the one who held the secret to reptilian mutation and invisible snacks in his brain.

("Uh, hello! Bot fighter, prodigy child, _and_ he's clearly immortal. This is _not_ the kid you sweep under a rug, trust me.")

"I wonder what he looks like!" Honey was gushing, bouncing in excitement, despite her platform heels. "Aw, I bet he has Gogo's hair—oh! And maybe her cute little brown eyes, ah! Can't you just imagine it?"

"I'm envisioning a younger, gender-flipped Gogo and I don't love it," Wasabi relented, shakily bringing his coffee mug to his lips. His eyes darted back and forth from the ceramic to his lab table, where each tool sat in a neat chalk outline.

Fred perked up in his battered armchair. "No way, man! This kid must be made of some serious stuff to survive out there. I'm thinking scars, and each one of them has a story."

"Guys, please," Tadashi interjected. "He's only coming here because he got hurt. That's not the kind of first impression you should build up for."

"Technically, we're talking about Gogo two-point-oh. This is the man, the legend, our boy Hiro, people!"

Hiro.

Just the word, regardless of context, had his heart thudding an octave too high. How common was that name? It was hardly _rare_ to gain the possibility of encountering a person named Hiro, especially in San Fransokyo, but the odds of his best friend's brother sharing the name of his own felt daunting.

Tadashi closed his eyes. He supposed there were things he would never get used to.

"Guys! I'm hearing voices—"

"That doesn't surprise me."

"—from down the hall, Wasabi! I'd say the little man's time awaits us."

On cue, the lab door swung open as the muffled voices reached a peak, and four heads turned to find Gogo strolling into the room, minus one bike and a teenager in tow. She silently stalked forward, flinging the single disk she held into the designated bin of rejects. (Tadashi didn't want to think of what had transpired to explain the bike's absence.)

"Moment of truth, Hiro," she drawled.

As the boy stepped out from behind his sister, Tadashi was impressed on a meta-level. Somehow, all three of the voiced assumptions about Hiro's appearance had a place in the genuine article: distinct brown irises peeked out from beneath a wild mane of black hair, fitting a rough mental image of a male, teenaged Gogo. And from the nasty looking gash splattered across his jawline, Tadashi was willing to bet a story of kinds lay in the origin.

At long last, after months of rumours and snark about the younger Tanaka, Hiro stood in the lab a few steps behind Gogo, his gaze flickering from person to person. He looked almost sheepish for a moment before his shoulders slumped and he offered an overly-bright smile, revealing white teeth with a gap at the forefront.

Turning back to him, Gogo popped her gum and uttered, "Welcome to the nerd lab," which triggered the world back into motion.

Bounding over much too gracefully on platform heels, Honey trilled, "Nice to finally meet you, Hiro. I'm—"

But Hiro held up a hand, effectively cutting off her introduction. "No, no, lemme guess. Blonde hair, great legs, _beautiful_ eyes," he snapped his fingers, "Honey Lemon, right?"

She positively beamed at him.

"And there's also Fred, Wasabi, and Tadashi," he checked off, flicking his gaze from person to person. Then he turned to the former with a look of mock-disappointment. "Damn, 'Dashi. Who revoked your code name rights?"

Hiro's voice, his sharp coffee-brown gaze, and arrogant little smirk concocted the hand that hit the trigger. As water filled Tadashi's ears and a mask coiled over his eyes, the world faded out around him.

_"_ ..._ 'Dashi?"_

_Mm, no_._ It's too early, much too soon to leave behind magical dreams that lure him in so sweetly _..._ just a few more minutes_—

_"'Dashi!"_

_The high-pitched trill jolts him back to consciousness, but the world outside is just as dark as the back of his eyelids_._ Tadashi props himself up groggily and rubs a fist against his face, eyelashes crusted with sleep dust as his visible eye scans his limited visibility_.

_A tug on his blanket alerts his attention_. _The culprit lingers on the side of his bed, too low for him to see through the veil of black_.

_"Lemme up,__" that voice murmurs, and Tadashi scoots as far to the side as he dares, squinting_. _Despite the non-existent lighting, he sees Hiro gazing up at him, clutching twin fistfuls of blanket to keep his delicate balance_. _He tugs the fabric again, boosting himself up on his toes and relenting half his grip to reach for his older brother_.

_"Bad dreams again?" Tadashi inquires, and though Hiro opts out of verbally replying, his silhouette nods in the dark_.

_There's only one feasible thing to do, of course_. _Tadashi sits up properly, dispelling the lingering grasp of sleep as he reaches down to hoist his little brother up onto the mattress_. _And without uttering another word, Hiro crawls to his side, fumbling with the edge of the blanket as he wriggles underneath it, then reaches out to curl his tiny hand into Tadashi's pyjama shirt_.

_Hiro tugs insistently, and Tadashi envisions a sleepy frown on his brother's face as he carefully lies back down_. _The younger wastes no time in wriggling closer to press himself to Tadashi's chest, face nuzzling against his brother's collarbone as short, warm puffs of breath soak against his neck_.

_As Tadashi wraps his arms around his brother, he knows one limb will be numb by the morning due to the younger's weight, but it's simple not to care about it as he nestles his chin in a tangle of fluffy locks_. _His sure-to-be-numb fingers comb through that inky hair until they graze the tips of the younger's ear, and like a kitten so tiny, so soft, so needy, Hiro elicits a mewl as he snuggles deeper into the embrace_.

_"It's okay, Hiro," the older murmurs, tenderly rubbing the shell of his brother's ear_. _"There's nothing to worry about_._ Tadashi's here, now_._"_

"Hey," a voice whispered.

Reality abruptly shifted back into it's rightful place, and Tadashi felt the stirrings of nausea churning in his stomach. He clenched his trembling hands and glanced to the side, finding the most concern he'd ever seen on Gogo's face.

Humiliation struck him with the subtlety of a malfunctioning Baymax as recollection pierced through his daze like Wasabi's lasers. _What's WRONG with me?_ He swallowed, mind drawing up a blank on the subject of excuses, but the knowledge that he wasn't lying face-first on the floor dulled Baymax's metaphorical strikes. Then in a heated rush, the fuzzy mash-up of colour in his vision swam into position, painting out the scene before him.

Past Gogo, the first thing Tadashi comprehended was Hiro. The freakishly uncanny ghost-boy hadn't noticed anything was amiss. Unless he had eyes sprouting out the back of his head, concealed beneath that fluffy mess of hair, then he wasn't looking to notice. His attention was zoned in on Fred and Honey Lemon as the two boys animatedly discussed "legitimate" reasons as to why the theory of invisible sandwiches was "not Not-Science." Ultimately it fell upon deaf ears as Honey lit up like fourth of July fireworks, cooing over Hiro as though her approved order of tungsten carbide had arrived a day early.

(Wasabi, on the other hand, was only slightly less tense—Tadashi could see the "it's happening again!" panic swimming through his eyes.)

With a heavy swallow, Tadashi managed a smile that he knew was mostly a grimace. He gave a stiff nod as her eyebrows drew together, but though she didn't appear halfway convinced, Gogo allowed the unspoken subject to drop.

_Just like any other day_, he urged. _Nothing special, so stop thinking about it_.

Perhaps the universe had squared down upon him, insistent that his desperate wish remained impossible. Out of all the contrived coincidences and harsh reminders, had Fate finally decided to throw aside subtlety and project a literal ghost into the lab?

This boy, Hiro, couldn't just have the same name as his own brother. That had been enough, hadn't it? Of all the rants Gogo had about her brother, Tadashi had wondered if in an alternate timeline, that could have been him complaining light-heartedly about _his_ Hiro?

Could it have been _him_ leading his lost little brother through the lab—a teenager with bright brown eyes and a mop of fluffy black hair, identical to the features of the three year old in memory?

No different to the fourteen year old who conversed easily with Honey, Wasasbi and Fred, as though he'd had a place reserved in the _nerd lab_ since birth?

Tadashi closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He was thinking too much about it. The date was getting to him. Hiro needed to be patched up, then the day would draw to a close. Chances were high that Tadashi would never cross paths with Hiro again, but that was _fine_. Almost as though this unscheduled visit had never happened.

(And later, Tadashi would deny his heart lurched at the thought.)

"He has a point, Honey. Isn't science all about pushing boundaries; getting so preoccupied on whether or not you could, you don't stop to think if you should?"

Though partially distracted with teasing strands of impossibly fluffy hair through nimble fingers, Honey appeared happy to humour the impossible fantasy for once. "And we have a full trilogy showing us exactly why it's such a terrible idea," she crooned, "besides, society has adapted past the era where such creatures could co-exist."

"Ah, but think about it," Fred cut in, "if it came down to a choice between winged destructozoids and a benevolent thirty-foot lizard, which would you wanna deal with?"

Wasasbi, his bewildered eyes steadily narrowing throughout the conversation, finally broke his silence. "Fred, how is _that_ relevant?"

As Fred and Hiro simultaneously broke into a further list of justifications to their point, Tadashi was broken from his revere as Gogo's hand came down gently on his shoulder. He glanced aside to face her, finding the same traces of sympathy peeking through her stoic mask. While Gogo had never been good at physical shows of affection, somehow her silent, understanding presence was a greater comfort to the show-and-tell of being coddled over.

She squeezed his shoulder gently, then let go entirely as she brushed past him, stepping closer to the heated debate. "Hiro. Let's get you cleaned up."

Though Hiro rolled his eyes, he relented, mournfully slipping away from Honey's embrace and returning to Gogo's side, hoisting himself up on the counter to meet her as close to eye-level as his stature allowed.

Then Gogo turned back to Tadashi, jerking her head at her brother. "He's all yours."

Why was he so nervous? His lab door was open—all Tadashi had to do was proclaim an "ow!" loud enough to reach Baymax's sensitive detector. Yet despite the inexplicable trembling of his hands, when Hiro rolled his eyes and tilted his head, Tadashi stepped forward and reached out to gently cup the untouched side of Hiro's jaw.

"I'll have you know I'm here _only_ because the alternative involves push-ups in the mud," Hiro mumbled, staring Tadashi directly in the eyes, alight with playful warning. "Or so I've heard."

It was idiotic. _He_ was moronic for getting so worked up. That day, normal as it was, had him constantly on edge. A challenge, maybe? Was this the final level of Hell he was condemned to endure before the ache in his chest finally subsided?

_If you could hear how crazy you sound_, he chastised himself, fighting off the urge to groan. There were bigger worries to tend to.

On the plus side, as nasty as Hiro's cut looked, there was no dirt crusting in the blood, though by now it had likely contracted a slight infection. Still, with the right treatment and an application of anti-scarring cream, the patch of skin would be good as new before he knew it.

"And you're sure you don't want to take him to the hospital?" Tadashi asked, releasing his hold as though Hiro was scalding hot. But the instant he did so, his own being plunged into sub-zero depths. "Just to be on the safe side."

"He tells me what he's up to, and I keep it a secret—that's our deal." Gogo promptly shot a withering look at Hiro. "And unlike him, I keep my end."

The exaggeratedly smarmy grin Hiro donned would have been creepy on anyone else, but somehow his expression straddled the thin line between comical and cute. "And I'd like to take the time to mention how _incredible_ you are, sis. I've _never_ seen an angel fly so low."

He wasn't dignified with a response.

"Disinfect, patch up, lollipop, then we're gone," Gogo relayed to Tadashi, as though her brother hadn't spoken. "Besides, has Baymax tested all of those ten thousand medical procedures you programmed into him?"

"Frankly, it's not him you need to butter up," Hiro piped up. Then mumbled, "Or threaten, in your case," as an afterthought.

Naturally, Gogo's ears were impossibly sharp. She turned to Hiro without a change in expression. "You're in disgrace. I wouldn't say another word without a lawyer present."

He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'd still stand a better chance than your bleeding heart would," and earned a light slap to the back of the head. "Seriously, with the bodily harm! And I have witnesses this time." Lightly, he nudged Tadashi's stomach. "You're on my side, right?"

Despite bright brown, puppy-dog eyes that Hiro directed at him oh-so pleadingly, and the dull ache in his chest the sight induced, Tadashi briskly answered, "I'm not getting involved, Hiro," as Gogo gave him a look that promised pain otherwise. "Sorry," he added, but it amounted to nothing as Hiro slipped off the counter, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"_Traitor!_" Hiro squirmed past the elder two, and backed up against Honey Lemon. "I think I'll stick with her. Blonde hair; heart of gold."

Behind him, Honey's arms circled around his torso, squeezing gently. "Aw, don't worry, Hiro. I'll take care of you."

Gogo tilted her head. "Don't you have your own brothers at home? No need to steal mine."

"Uh, as much as I hate to break this up, didn't you come here to patch Hiro up?" And there was Wasabi, neurotic as ever. "Because that cut has been left untreated, and possibly forgotten about. It's like you want him to contract a disease."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Hiro _helpfully_ supplied. "I get death threats three times a day. It's only a matter of time before she snaps."

"Then I'll forgo subtlety and invest in rat poison." Gogo shot him a small, brief grin. "C'mon, you. Let's get you a Band-Aid."

Despite his disgruntled expression, Hiro mournfully stepped away from Honey and obediently walked alongside Gogo, who met Tadashi's eyes and tilted her head towards his lab.

"So tell me, what happened to not having the skills?" Hiro was saying, his voice radiating from down the empty hall as the trio left the room. "It's just one lie after another with you, isn't it? At least Honey was honest."

-0-

Tadashi's lab was, to put it bluntly, _tidy_. Not just organized, but impeccable. And Hiro, with his scruffy hair and partially smashed in face, felt akin to a sewer rat in a testing lab, appropriately enough.

"So this is where the magic happens, huh?" he mused aloud. "Okay, Soup. Blow me away."

In unison, Tadashi and Gogo halted, exchanging a look. "Do I want to know?" the former asked.

Hiro looked sincerely baffled. "Dashi? It's a kind of soup?" he said, then slumped forward with an exaggerated sigh. "See, it's _funny_ when I don't have to explain the joke. But nope, you had to offend the high and mighty, and I'm afraid I just don't have the kind of creativity required to think up a good snack-based nickname," he elaborated, his tone dripping in sarcasm.

Despite himself, Tadashi smiled a little. "Right, well, how badly does that hurt?" he asked, indicating to the wound.

Hiro traced a finger along the cut, gathering a clump of concealing blood. He accepted the tissue offered by a disgusted looking Gogo and wiped the gunk away. "If you guys didn't keep drawing attention to it, I'd have forgotten it existed," he said with a shrug. "So what's the treatment, doc? I'm only opposed to stitches. You wouldn't really mutilate this face, would you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. Asking the real doctor, on the other hand ... well, I make no promises."

"Oh, the _real_ doctor?" Hiro quirked an eyebrow. "'Cause if you need a guinea pig to experiment on while your medical license comes in the mail, I think I'll cut my loses while—_ah!_" He jolted slightly, skittering away from Gogo as she dabbed a disinfectant-soaked cotton swab to his cut. "Weren't you paying attention—?"

As a steady whoosh of air buzzed from one side of the room, Hiro's attention was diverted. He turned his head away from Gogo in time to see what he could only describe as an over-sized walking marshmallow inflating from a compact red box. Of all the things he was prepared to witness at the nerd school, this wasn't on the list. And as words failed to materialized on his tongue, Hiro was left staring at the marshmallow-slash-balloon robot _thing_.

It's dark eyes fixed upon him, then the robot stepped out of it's charger to waddle across the room—hindered only as it paused midway to carefully remove a stool from it's path—then shuffled closer to stand directly in front of Hiro, a repetitive blend of squeaking and buzzing accompanying it's every move. It raised one plump, shapely arm and gave him a circular wave.

"Hello, I am Baymax. Your personal, healthcare companion." Synthetic it may have been, it was difficult not to smile at such a light and friendly tone. "I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said 'ow'."

"A _robotic_ nurse?" As cliché a plot point it was, _this_ was certainly unexpected.

"On a scale of one-to-ten, how would you rate your pain?"

"I'd say a six and rising." He shot a glare at Gogo, who shrugged.

"Repeat: do you _want_ your stalling to give you an infection?" she rebuked, directing her attention to Baymax as he intercepted before Hiro could respond.

"I will scan you for injuries." The robot's head promptly dipped, before it resumed speaking, "Scan complete. You have a laceration along your mandible. A mild bacterial infection is likely, but treatable. I suggest cleaning the wound and applying an antiseptic cream. This will kill or inhibit the grown of bacteria."

For a split second, Hiro considered his choices: snap back at Gogo, or surrender to curiosity. He nearly laughed aloud at the weak challenge—tormenting his sister was a vital part of his daily routine, but when would _this_ opportunity rise again?

So instead he analyzed Baymax from his small distance, and inquired, "Hold up, big guy. What's in that cream, specifically?" which prompted the robot to blink once (a pointless, but endearing action, Hiro could admit) as his inflated stomach lit up.

"The key ingredient is Cetrimide," Baymax relayed. "It is the best antiseptic for cleaning road side accident wounds."

Cetrimide, huh? "Bummer. I'm actually allergic to that."

Baymax, however, calmly disagreed, "You are not allergic to Cetrimide. You do have a mild allergy to: peanuts."

... wait, what?

Hiro stared up at Baymax, who appeared obliviously innocent, right down to the metaphorical halo. "Peanuts?" he mused, shooting a look over at Gogo, who merely had an eyebrow raised. For a brief second, Hiro rose a hand as he went to speak on, then shook his head and dropped his arm along with the subject. "On second thought, let's put a pin in this. Deal with it later. And until then—"

Of all the things Tadashi might have expected, Hiro promptly smooshing his face against Baymax's plump stomach wasn't on the list. He found he was capable of little more than staring as Hiro babbled on excitedly, which served also to negate the concern that the boy was in immediate danger of self-asphyxiation.

"Titanium skeleton," Hiro listed off through blurred vision, "no, wait—carbon fiber. Even lighter. And _killer_ actuators. _Please_ tell me I'm gonna be impressed when you tell me how strong he is?"

It was surreal, to be honest. Tadashi was used to the comments and inquiries over Baymax, strength and efficiency being prime choices. His answers always elicited the same responses: kindly words at the ready, ranging anywhere on a scale from awe to plain enthusiasm. Even his own professors had similar responses. Hiro, however ...

"He can lift a thousand pounds."

Hiro peeled his face away from the vinyl, his cheeks flushed as he whistled low. "Not bad," he said with a smirk, as though confident he could have built Baymax _better_. Though his cockiness was swiftly taken over by his awe. "Must'a taken you months. H-how did you even _get_ half this stuff?"

... shredded the lingering skepticism in Tadashi's mind over whether Gogo had exaggerated in her rants. He was flighty, sarcastic, more than a little arrogant, yet so intelligent. Graduated at thirteen, full of untapped potential, and chose to spend his days hustling criminals.

Tadashi mentally retracted every silent acknowledgment he'd ever had on Gogo's short fuse. It couldn't be possible to have a reckless, yet _brilliant_ brother and remain calm throughout.

"I machined 'em right here in the lab," Tadashi answer, unable to hold back a grin as Hiro lit up, astounded.

"Rumour says this took him two thousand tries to perfect," Gogo interjected from across the room, "and that Baymax was the cause of, and remedy to his broken neck."

Tadashi couldn't resist pointing out, "Didn't know you tampered in the gossip mill, Gogo," which earned a snicker from Hiro.

"Believe me, high school was _not_ easy," the younger boy said, grinning unabashedly at Tadashi. "Picture this: ten year old me just wants to survive the first day of High School, paranoia sister sees two guys laughing whilst looking in my general direction, and they _somehow_ end up flying head-first down the nearest staircase ten seconds later. The result was a broken leg, cracked ribs, the first loss for the football team, and the entire student body avoiding both of us because there's a rumour going around that Lei worked for the Yukaza."

Gogo had a backstory; the thought was surreal. Thus, Tadashi couldn't resist. "Just worked for them, huh?"

"Dude, she had a slogan: ruthless enough to take down a world leaders without flinching, but simply not smart enough to be the brains behind the whole thing."

"Ouch." Of course, Tadashi's faux-sympathy would have been convincing if he weren't still smiling. "How many broken bones did _that_ lead to?"

Only then, he couldn't claim the abrupt flip in the mood could be natural. Tadashi's grin faltered as Hiro's own humour seemed to physically drain from the air, his small body going stiff as he found the far desk to be an easier sight to behold.

Tadashi's first instinct was to apologize for whichever unknown nerve he might have struck, but just as quickly as the right words scrambled into order in his mind, Hiro snapped out of his revere.

"_After_ she got expelled?" he said with a shrug. "First time, no one had the guts to wail on her. But she didn't notice the cameras the second time. Mom threw a fit."

His voice wasn't nearly so sincerely bright, his smile appeared plastic, smothering the trio with awkwardness. And Tadashi had never wished he could kick himself before that day.

"Sounds like you had quite the colourful childhood," he said instead.

Gogo, for her part, was unaffected. Or a firm expert at concealing her emotions. "That happens when your brother is a little brat who lives on sabotage."

Hiro tore his gaze from the desk. "I_ said _I was sorry, Lei."

"And _I_ say it's time to leave. You aren't supposed to be out this late."

"Couldn't I just hide out here?" With a full-on pout, he looked to Tadashi, puppy-dog eyes back in place. "Don't let her take me. I'm tiny and quiet as a mouse; you'll never even notice me, promise. I'll even be your personal guinea pig if you need a hand in testing Baymax."

Tadashi so nearly felt resigned to the impulsive surge to whole-heartedly agree, but Gogo had already crossed the room, one hand propping the door open.

"C'mon, Hiro. You'll have to face the music sooner or later."

"As always, I'd pick later."

Nonetheless, with one last genuine smile at Tadashi, he relented. And as the lab door swung soundlessly back to a close behind them, the inexplicable tightness in Tadashi's chest intensified, and every nerve in his body jolted as an inflated hand rested on his shoulder.

Baymax stared down at him, dark eyes reflecting as much synthetic concern as could be possible. Despite the robot's obvious appearance, Tadashi had all but forgotten he was still active once Hiro had captivated his attention.

"Tadashi, your heart rate has increased, and I detect a elevated traces of adrenocorticotropin. Recommended care: express your feelings. Getting your feelings out in the open releases the tension valve and helps you define alternatives and find insights about yourself as you begin to adjust."

Regardless of his dedication to living a healthy lifestyle, Tadashi simply couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the treatment. "Y-yeah, thanks. I'm satisfied with my care."

-0-

What Hiro wanted and what Hiro got were two different things.

"_What did you do to your face?_"

His plan to zip up the stairs before being detected was grinded into dust as he tip-toed across the floor, only to come to a halt when two hands clamped on his shoulders and steered him through a detour. One forced step into the living room was met with his concerned looking mother scooping him up into a hug, and only once she was satisfied her son wouldn't evaporate on the spot, she clasped her hands to his cheeks, tilting his head to allow a better view to fret over his patched up gash.

"Oh heavens, what have you been _doing?_ Please don't tell me you've been—oh, I don't want to think about it." Jilynn let go of him to press her fingers to her temples, massaging. "How am I supposed to deal with you these days? I thought we had the worst of it with Leiko, but it's happening all over again. You are _never_ to sit in the driver's seat before you're twenty one, never mind the context!"

"Mom, who needs to drive when I have Lei's bike? Do you know how much faster that is?"

Speaking of Gogo, she'd settled in for a front row seat in the doorway, chewing gum like the devil may care as she met his gaze. _You wish_, her irises seethed.

As Jilynn rambled on, locked in full mama bear mode, Hiro quickly weighed his options. It was the same routine: once his mother's worry burned from her system, it would be hugs, apologies, and promises to make it up to her. (And as disapproving as her thoughts of his year-old status may be, Hiro prided himself on keeping those condolences.)

"Mom, listen. I'm sorry. C'mon, I was with Lei all evening."

His mother shook her head, slumping as she released a heavy sigh. "Hiro, I just wish you trusted me more. I know you feel as though the world is your playground, and your father and I didn't want to push you into anything too soon, but just don't listen to us. A young man who graduates at thirteen should not be wasting his potential to have free reign across the city and torment his sister."

"Hate to drag her into this, but Lei turned out alright, didn't she?" Like well-practiced innocence in the arena, he shot his mother a reassuring smile. "Forgive me is I'm wrong, I heard a little something about _Robert Callaghan_ himself vouching for her. Have a little faith in me, won't you?"

Jilynn closed her eyes, held down by exhaustion as she fought back the twist of her hidden smile. But identical to many times before, scooping up his winnings and making a clean get-away was torn to shreds as a new, lower voice entered the fray;

"Young man, where have you been?"

Hiro felt the world cease to spin, saw his life flash before his eyes, heard the single _pop_ of gum that disrupted the foreboding silence that smothered all else. "Uh—" His eyes darted in Gogo's direction, pulling out all the stops as he shamelessly pleaded for help.

_Don't let this happen to me_, _Lei_. _I'll repent_, _reform_, _be a perfect angel for the next four years_. _Just d__on't let them send me away!_

Standing in the arch connecting to the dining room, looming behind Jilynn like an archangel sent to deal righteous Judgment, stood the intimidating figure of Hiroto Tanaka.

"Y-you know, fun story about that, Dad—"

Inconspicuously, Gogo gave a silent sigh and stepped forward. She dealt in necessary cruelty when it came to dealing a hard-earned lesson, but Hiro looked to be on the brink of a panic attack, and above all else, she was his elder sister. If anyone was going to kill him, it was her. "We were at SFIT and lost track of time," she relayed to the silent room. "It was supposed to be a secret, but I figure now's the time to break it to you."

Hiro ceased his nervous babbling to glance over his shoulder, anything that meant not watching as their father furrowed his brow, looking back and forth between his children.

"A secret?" was the question, and Gogo offered up an uncharacteristically bright smile that sent a chill further up Hiro's spine than blatant danger ever would.

"Hiro decided to apply for college."

In the pause that ensued, she picked up no less than three different noises: a disbelieving gasp, the clatter of china, and indignant spluttering. And with inward satisfaction, Gogo leant back against the wall, where a single _pop_ of her gum triggered the world back into motion.

"Is this true, Hiro?"

No, no it wasn't true. It was the complete opposite of truth, so far away from anything resembling honesty that a sociopath would struggle to make sound legit. But his parents were watching him intently, restrained hope and justified suspicion fueling their curiosity.

Just another bot fight, Hiro told himself. He'd slipped under countless radars before—all that training has prepared him for moments such as this.

"Well," he began, grateful he at least kept his voice intact, "I've been thinking it through since Leiko brought her project home during the off-season. A-and since I've never seen her lab before, I thought 'why not?' and gave it a go." _So far so good_. _Now bring it to a close_. "She's been hinting I could sign up for classes, but it all looks so ... _up_ on a new level that I don't think I'm ready for—"

"Nonsense." Hiroto's voice wasn't loud or sharp, but it _was_ so inherently dominant that Hiro's own voice died in his throat. "Hiro, you graduated school at age thirteen. Even as you've been dithering about the house, wasting away your youth and genius, you've been head-hunted by professors, CEO's, the likes!" Then his firm stare released Hiro, and instead locked upon Gogo. "Look at your sister. At thirteen, she was burning rubber and abusing her health insurance. Now _she_ attends San Fransokyo's Institute of Technology. Give me one reason, just one, as to why you have this delusion that you aren't good enough for the best."

"Uh—"

"_Nothing_." And Hiro couldn't tell if he flinched under the word, or the weight of his father's stare. "It's been a year, Hiro. Genius doesn't slow down the world so you can catch up." Then without looking away, he demanded, "Leiko, did they change up admission?"

"Well," Gogo began without pause, "next month, the school is having it's annual student showcase. Anyone who invents something that blows Professor Callaghan away is in."

As the pieces clicked into place, Hiro narrowed his eyes to such an extent that he felt his face scrunch up. _How long has she been planning this?_

Gogo concealed a majority of her smugness by blowing another bubble, letting it linger before she gnashed it apart with her teeth.

_Months_, he decided, feeling his skin prickle with poorly-concealed wrath. _She's has this on standby for MONTHS_. _Lei, you back-stabbing traitor, I swear on the existence of gum and lollipops, you will REGRET that before the semester is over_.

"Hiro," said a voice that coaxed him out of vicious master planning. Hiro tore his field of vision from his malicious sister to his mother, whose eyes shone with jubilation through a veil of moisture, "I'm so proud of you, darling. I-I can't believe that—goodness, has this been what you and Leiko have been up to these past few months?"

"I've been showing him the campus," Gogo intercepted, reigniting the trigger on his rage. "Then introduced him to everyone, and he's been considering it. Just didn't want to say anything until it was set in stone."

On second thought, push-ups in the mud couldn't be _that_ hard. And if he could get a message through to Fred or even Honey Lemon, perhaps they'd be willing to rush to his aide and steal him away from physical labour and sibling abuse with promises of a bright future crammed full of good will and spicy ramen.

"But it's pointless to keep it a secret any longer. He's been so excited, you'd have picked it up."

Jilynn looked thoughtful at that. "You _have_ been so exhilarated as of late, Hiro," she pondered aloud, tapping a manicured finger to her chin. "And the exhaustion Leiko has been feeling—oh, it's all making so much sense." A perky grin lit up her face. "You've been running your poor sister ragged with this, haven't you? And atop her final project, she's been finding time to dedicate to you ... "

He wasn't fooled by her forced nonchalance—that smug glint in Gogo's eyes said it all. She'd been waiting ever so patiently for an opportunity to throw the bombshell whilst his guard was down, then head for the hills. And that just wasn't on. Gogo was the older sibling; the _mature_ one. It was only socially acceptable for someone so brattish and scheming as himself to pull of such back-stabbing shenanigans.

His mind was abuzz with methods of payback. Oh, Hiro would drive his sister insane if it were his last act alive.

"Well, I guess I'd better call it a night. It's been a long day and I'm all tuckered out, what with all the excitement—" Of course, he should've known it couldn't be so straight-forward.

"You aren't off the hook yet, Hiro." His father's voice rooted him to the spot. "I still want to know what happened."

Still, that wasn't to say he was going down alone.

"Did you know that electromagnetic wheels are dangerously prone to flying off?" For emphasis, he ran a hand through his hair, drawing attention to the Band-Aid. "Because Leiko didn't. But hey, you learn something new every day, huh?"

-0-

It took a full hour, for which Hiro had been banished to his bedroom, but after the scoldings and lectures had audibly crept up the halls, Gogo was finally dismissed to stomp up the stairs and glower as her sufficiently smug teenage brother sat waiting for her.

"Question: do you know when to stop pushing your luck, or do you get off on overstepping the boundaries?"

"Hey, think of it this way—now there are no more questions they can ask. We have eye witness accounts; we're good. Unless the nerds are snitches, in which case, I demand you stop seeing them, immediately. Or I will be forced to take drastic action."

It was incredible how Gogo could make a _pop_ sound irritate.

-0-

Tadashi was _tired_. His brain felt numb, his limbs disconnected, his eyes were lead pipes, and his entire body yearned to shut down 'til past sunrise. Though the trip was a blur, and he couldn't begin to recollect precisely how he'd managed to safely drive him in his partially unconscious state, he couldn't bring himself to complain in light of finally being home.

Had it really been just one day? A full week could have slipped by and he'd accept it as fact.

"Tadashi? You home, sweetie?" came his aunt's voice as he made his way upstairs. The spicy aroma of hot wings crept through the house, filling the air with the undeniable aura of _home_.

"Yeah, I'm back," he replied. "There was a slight change of plans. I wound up staying a little longer than I intended."

As Tadashi reached the landing, he immediately located his aunt sitting rigidly on the couch, watching him with a heedful gaze. She was visibly tense, and her fingers were trapped in a loop of clenching and relaxing as she lingered on the confliction of leaping up and enveloping her nephew in a hug, or staying put and giving Tadashi his space.

"A change in plans, huh?" she inquired. Her tone was forcefully casual, piqued by concern. "Anything serious—?"

"No, nothing bad." Tadashi was content to leave it at that, but he saw from the worry in Aunt Cass' eyes that she was hesitant to believe him. He held back a sigh and elaborated, "Gogo brought her brother into the lab. She—" _wanted Baymax to patch him up so their parents wouldn't know he'd been bot-fighting_, "—took him for a tour around the lab."

"Oh! Well, that was unexpected, I'll bet. I didn't even know she _had_ a brother, but then, that girl never talks much about herself in my hearing range, so what do I know, am I right?" Aunt Cass smiled, desperate and daring to hope. "So ... today was a good one, huh?" she asked cautiously, as though enthusiasm would inflict the outcome.

And Tadashi sighed silently, expelling the build-up tension in the single motion. 'Today' had been a whirlwind of many things—tedious, unexpected, terrifying, resentful—but at the core, he felt devoid of that perpetual flicker of regret. A good day? That was debatable. But bad ... ?

"Yeah," he said finally, managing a small, but genuine smile. "Today was a good one."

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** And to the North, we see the budding ties to canon. But don't worry, with a few aspects sprinkled here and there, a new storyline will develop. Gotta give those seeds time to flourish, people!

I wanted to stress that Tadashi is really on edge, even a tad paranoid that day was destined to end in a blazing glory. Believe me, future interactions with Hiro will be a lot smoother.

(This was MEANT to be out yesterday, but this site was partially dead, thus I couldn't access this chapter. -_- But it's still the weekend - thus I did good on my promise!)

(By extension, I'm intending to have weekly updates on this. Time will tell if I make good on that, but I can try, can't I? :D)


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Note:** An unexpected tragedy made these past two weeks _brutal_, which equaled very little time for much else. That's my excuse. :( Though on a lighter note, this remarkable film won a well-deserved Oscar! Why shouldn't the fandom celebrate?

On a meta level, I find this chapter ironic: Hiro is frustrated with lack of progress, whereas I was frustrated with not getting this chapter done sooner. *cries* Also, each section in this chapter spans a day. Just throwing that out there. :)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

He had officially reached the point of no return. With one foot in limbo and the other on Death's front door, Hiro stumbled to the lesser populated area of the university. Several students he had no names for were scattered about the lab, quietly working on various projects. He crept by unnoticed, weaving past the designated stations until he reached Gogo's section.

On the bright side, she was showering him with rare mercy by smuggling him out of the house and into SFIT. Thus he was free from their parents' scrutiny and not-so-subtle hints that any moment of consciousness was time that could be spent working. But on the flip side, Hiro was forced to entertain himself whilst Gogo attended her classes.

Oh, and he was forbidden from being anything but inconspicuous. That wasn't even getting into the unholy _hour_ he'd been dragged out of bed ...

If Hiro had the energy to cry, he'd have melted to the floor and wept hysterically.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Yo, Hiro!"

The voice was electricity through his bloodstream. Hiro jolted, eyes snapping open—wait, when had he closed them?—as he teetered where he stood and blinked dumbly.

Before Hiro could comprehend that the speaker was directing at him, a familiar green mascot suit materialized before him. "Whoa!" came the voice from within. "Did Gogo bury you alive? You don't look good."

_Aaand way to kick a guy when he's down_, Hiro lamented with a weary shrug. Then aloud he said, "She and I get away with one near-death experience a week. I've cashed in mine getting my face busted, so she can't grab a shovel for little under a week."

Speaking of, _no_ a good a night's sleep hadn't helped relieve the dull throb that came whenever he moved his jaw. But at least the Band-Aid wasn't tinted shades of neon.

"Normally I'd brush this under the rug, but I've seen it happen before. Always with the siblings." The mouth of the costume flipped open, revealing Fred's overactive expression. "Usually brothers, but it's not impossible that a sister turns dark. Inevitably, one or the other turns evil, and the final stand comes to a match between the two. I know you love your sis, but you might wanna be on your guard. Just in case."

The mascot's words barely registered in Hiro's mind. He was too preoccupied in simply looking at Fred to listen to him. How—no really, _how_ could anyone smile at this hour? Unless soda ran through his veins and sleep was a foreign necessity to him, the constant sleep deprivation must have long since circled round and sent Fred on a permanent high.

Such an enviable existence.

"Anyway, conspiracies aside, if she even looks at you funny, Fredzilla will always have your back, lil' dude."

"Think there's enough space under your bridge for two?"

"For a bro in need, I'll _make_ room. Fredzilla always looks out for his buds. Just think about that shrink ray, yeah?"

And there it was, second only to the lizard serum. "I ... will add it to the list," Hiro concluded. Wow, when did talking become such a chore? And once again, _w__hy_ did he let Gogo drag him out of bed? "First, I need something new and I can't even think straight right now. _How_ does anyone do this?"

Fred shrugged loosely. "Eh, it takes some getting used to."

_Helpful_. "Time, huh? I could always use some more of that."

"Look, Hiro. This happens at the beginning of every great comic book."

In his short time of knowing the mascot, seriousness was not an emotion Hiro would've expected to have a place on Fred's face. But as conspiracies and comic books churned so naturally through the blonde's mind, Fred's entire expression hardened.

"Our prodigal hero struggles to find his place in a ruthless world," he continued, "only it turns out he can't find his calling because the call finds _him_. Trust me, it's all a matter of waiting it out."

"Showcase is in just over a month. Fred, I don't think I have time—"

"Would I lie to a little bro? Hiro, you gotta learn to _relax_." To emphasis, Fred flopped back lazily into his armchair. "Inspiration strikes when you're full of it, and _always_ when you least suspect it. I've written essays, Hiro. If I could do one thing right now, it'd be to spare you that kind of trauma."

"Oh? So you're familiar with stress?"

As a mortified look crossed his face, Fred shuddered. "It was a dark time."

-0-

Honey's enthusiasm was infectious.

There were no words to describe her that weren't dipped in lavender and peppered with cheese: the way she bounded through the lab radiating music from her ear buds past her lips, geared up for the fresh batch of chocolate-chip shenanigans the day promised, skipping along on platform heels and leaving an air of sunshine in her wake, projecting an aura as sweet as her name.

(And as a young man of untapped genius, Hiro had a back-up plan—if, for some unfathomable reason, science fell through, then he hadn't forgotten Fred's rave reviews of his English literature course.)

Hiro had wondered, time and time again as he observed the perky blonde skittering about the lab, if Honey Lemon knew the meaning of an academic block. He'd had a fair share of sleepless nights plagued by an upgrade to Megabot that _just wouldn't work_ and Gogo could be downright vicious when her concentration eluded her.

Honey, on the other hand, was unwaveringly bubbly wherever she went, oozing ideas for chemical reactions she was _dying_ to concoct. Her smile only dimmed in shades and never diminished, and the pool of inspiration that churned in her mind seemed bottomless.

So as the Latina in question pranced about her lab, Hiro sat in quiet observation several feet away, lost in intrigue. Maybe he'd been going about it all wrong; perhaps it was less to do with the designs for his super-awesome showcase, and circled around how he went about making them.

Such blatant, open enthusiasm wasn't his for take. (Although the look of horror that attitude would elicit from Gogo tempted him, nonetheless.) But if it meant the ideas would churn smooth as butter, then who was he to shoot it down?

In words relayed by Robert Callaghan: "never a failure unless you learn nothing."

-0-

The way tired brown eyes lit up as coffee met his lips, Honey Lemon wondered if Hiro had ever tasted caffeine before. But by the time he had chugged down his sixth—or was it seventh?—latte, Honey felt the ebbing of concern.

"Hiro, please," she tried as he skittered about the lab, pacing frantically. "You need eight hours of sleep a night; this isn't healthy."

He released a bark of anger, a manic look on his face. "Sleep? Honey, I can't _sleep_—I need _answers!_"

"Then at least sit down?" She wondered which would wear down first; his shoes or the rug. "If you're physically expelling your energy, your mind can't catch up."

When Hiro promptly teleported in front of her face, it took all Honey had not to tumble off her chair. "Do you know how many lattes I've had, Honey? D-do you?" His pupils were wide, eyes shadowed with grey smudges as he stared through the windows to her soul. "No, no—I'm asking, Honey. I-I lost count. I think. I _can't_ think about tallying that up, I need—need ideas—you have ideas! You always have ideas!"

Oh, this was a tragically familiar sight. In such an elite college, where students were expected to offer a hundred percent commitment at the very least, creativity blocks and caffeine highs were common place around campus, regardless of the hour. Honey would _never_ forget the horror that was end-of-term finals.

"Hiro," she tried again, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. She could feel the trembling of his muscles through his hoodie, but he was otherwise still, watching her with unnatural attentiveness. "Ideas won't come if you stay in one place all day. Go for a walk, take a nap, distract yourself, okay? You won't find inspiration; it finds you."

"I think—_I think_ Fred told me the same thing. I-is this a conspiracy? What're you planning!?"

And as Hiro burst into a flurry of latte-induced paranoid ramblings, Honey sighed to herself and stepped away from her station. If this sugar-high was going to last beyond the hour, she had too much heart to let him wander off and hurt himself.

-0-

Neurotic he may be, but Wasabi was a life-saver.

Years of honed precision and the package deal of danger that came from experiments with laser-induced plasma had gifted him with steady hands and unwavering patience. (That is, barring any brash tampering with his system.) And as Hiro tossed his pencil across the room, letting loose an exasperated wail at the sheer impossibility of it all, it had been Wasabi's comforting hand that rested on his shoulder.

Hiro jerked upright, a look of shock crossing his face as he identified the man standing beside him. "Why d'you have to be so quiet? I almost forgot you were here," he explained wearily, offering a weak laugh.

A generous investment in personalized neon signs couldn't have made Hiro's frustration clearer. He stared down at his mutilated notebook, countless pages partially shredded by abandoned doodles and eraser marks, wearing such a deep frown that his facial muscles must have ached.

"Let me guess—you've hit the wall?"

Oh yes, Wasabi knew that look all too well. Countless hours blurred together to create an intangible flurry of days slipping by, filled to the brim with the muted glow of plasma and simmering frustration as his grid needed the sixth tune-up within the hour.

Hiro leaned back in his chair, fringe falling back to reveal weary eyes. The boy wasn't yet in college, yet he was adapting to the look tragically well. Maybe it was the aesthetic amidst robotic prodigies—as well-groomed as daytime Tadashi was, anything beyond ten P.M. had Fred theorizing about the walking dead.

"_Really?_" Hiro pointedly stressed the one word, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Whatever gave me away?"

"Sometimes ideas won't come when you sit down and force them. You've gotta figure out what makes you _tick_."

"Eh, since loafing around isn't working for me, I'll give it a shot. Just as soon as you tell me how."

"I've heard time is an element you're lacking. So I'm going to guess that telling you how college is about finding yourself would be a misfire?"

"Why don'tcha take a wild shot in the dark?"

"Well, I do mean it. Everyone works differently."

"Two blonde birds told me to wait around for the ideas to strike. But waiting is _hard_."

"And not for you."

With a roll of his eyes, Hiro relented to the silence. Instead, he was content to banish every last thought connected to the deadline from his head for the simple act of watching the glowing beams of plasma as Wasabi worked. Each line was needle-thin and painstakingly positioned at equal distance apart, yet counting just how many of those beams existed was possible. However hard he squinted, tilted his head, or leaned as close as he dared, the shades of green appeared to melt into a solid shield of plasma through his concentrated vision.

"Y'know, I've been meaning to ask," Hiro eventually spoke up, straightening his back and rubbing his eyes. "Is this all your handiwork, or did you cheat?"

He could only describe the aura surrounding Wasabi as _cautious_. "A steady hand and dedication brings results, Hiro," he said slowly, eyes flickering to the boy like a skittish deer. "Just like the system, everything has its place."

_And why do my thoughts fly straight to Leiko?_

Hiro held back a smirk, unwilling to aggravate Wasabi's clear discomfort, and in as light a tone as he could produce, he said, "Must'a taken you hours—days, even. Without sleep."

"You would be surprised at the benefits of being organized. You simply need a cycle to work through."

"Oh, believe me. I know all about organization."

"Really? Because from what Gogo told us, it's not uncommon for you to make towers out of candy wrappers and sleep on the 3D printer because it's warm."

So Gogo wasn't as tight-lipped about him as she'd implied. Oh, if only she knew the dirt Hiro could spill about _her_ ...

But that was a plot for another day.

"You say clutter. _I_ say controlled chaos." Hiro leaned back in his chair. "I have my own system, it's just that other people don't see it. Which means constant disruptions."

And the miniscule twitch in Wasabi's brow confirmed the man scarcely knew what true peace was. "Gogo once insisted it built strength of character," he mentioned. "And that if anyone's up for a challenge, it's you."

"Yes. A challenge I can _do_."

"Then you can go for it and find out, or quit and spend the rest of your life wondering what if." Then as if it were a hellish fate he wouldn't wish on anybody, Wasabi somberly added, "Or doing push-ups in the mud."

The continuous, if subtle trembling of Wasabi's otherwise steady hands was a surprising reassurance. Three of the five nerds were on Hiro's side. Maybe it was a sign.

-0-

Hiro wasn't blinded by stubbornness, as some would claim. He'd entertained the idea once, maybe twice before, of joining his sister at her nerd academy. It was just that he'd never seriously weighed the benefits.

Unlimited access to advanced technology? Check. Nerds he had falsely labeled as snobbish as opposed to remarkably intelligent? _Check_. Closeness to Gogo at all times? **Check.**

Toss getting to meet the world renowned scientist and robotics genius, Robert Callaghan, to the mix and _voila!_ One super amped Hiro Tanaka was the result.

Unfortunately, unique and ground-breaking ideas didn't originate from blaring upbeat anthems, and for all his innate genius, Hiro was no exception to the rule.

He idly rolled the lollipop over his tongue, grimacing at the flavour. Sugar-free lime; the worst kind of brain food. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures. Standing outside on the bridge, Hiro overlooked the stunning visual of the campus of an Institute he found glorious, but doubted he wanted to be a part of.

That day had been a blast in the short term; seeing Gogo truly in action, lobbing increasingly dense objects through Wasabi's lasers, and momentary blindness through Honey's bubblegum cloud of chemical metal embrittlement. But beyond the gimmicks and extraordinary displays, those nerds truly belonged in college, melded together as a makeshift family.

And whilst wandering from lab to lab, Hiro felt increasingly like an afterthought. Tacked on simply because he had no other purpose elsewhere.

Bot-fighting was the same old every time, but he'd attended the matches because it was _his_ choice. And besides, he was good at it. A true challenge was a rare treat, but hey, the rush at the end of the day was worth having to stare along the length of a knife.

But then the paranoia started. Gogo had become increasingly cautious, warning him about the growing danger his repeated stunts brought him. He found himself yearning for days past, when Gogo zipped him across the city at a moment's notice, placed her own bets on his matches, and they'd walk away loaded.

The irony infused in the cycle was a bitter taste on his tongue. Yes, he was a hypocrite for going back night after night, uncaring of the lingering bruises to his gut from the one before. But it was equal payback to her, too.

In short, for once in his youthful life, Hiro considered the direct consequences his choices would bring, and progress on narrowing down an option amounted to zilch.

_The joy of being me_, he lamented.

"Feeling uninspired?"

Hiro jolted, snapped from his pity party at the familiar voice. He turned his head, unsurprised to find that yes, that voice belonged to Tadashi Hamada, who stood two feet away with a knowing look on his face.

"No, I'm leaning," Hiro replied, removing the foul sweet from his mouth. "This is where I come to lean. Problem, genius?" He twirled the paper stick between his fingers, and tossed it into the nearby trashcan after a brief debate. He knew when he was stumped, and sucking on mediocre treats never helped.

(Mental note: Hiro swore he'd stock Baymax up with edible goodies in the near future.)

Tadashi tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing. His shoulder bag hung loosely against his hip, Hiro noticed, and it made him cringe inwardly. Was it already so late that his rusty brain refused to work even as dedicated college nerds were calling it a day? Yeesh.

"You've been wandering around the lab like a lost puppy all day," Tadashi said. "Believe me, I know how it feels."

Hiro quirked an eyebrow. The thought of Tadashi looking lost as he wandered through the halls of SFIT with wide puppy-dog eyes ... now _that_ was an image to ponder over. Unless he was fabricating things to coo over how he _understood the pain and suffering a lost genius went through_. Or some melodramatic crap to that effect.

"Ooh, _watch out!_" he drawled, a little harsher than intended. "We got ourselves a psychology major."

But to Tadashi's credit, he didn't seem phased. In fact, he smiled. "This is a school of technology, Hiro. You don't have to worry about psychology for at least three hundred days out of the year."

"Speaking from personal experience?"

He _knew_ the corners of Tadashi's lips just twitched, even without the amused glint in brown eyes. "Social experiment during freshman year," Tadashi explained. "I got paired up with a psychology major from a campus across the city. Three hours into the meet-and-greet, she diagnosed my aunt's cat with depression."

Thus, reason number twenty-six as to why Hiro had no desire to enter college. "Ouch," he murmured, knowing it would have been more convincing if he weren't smiling, but beyond the point of caring. Besides, that easy grin still rested on Tadashi's lips—it'd be rude _not_ to share the good mood.

"So." Arms folded, Tadashi leaned forward against the railing. "What do you do during your 'leaning time'?"

Small talk, huh? Given Tadashi had been locked away in his lab throughout the four days Hiro had been present, it hadn't opened up an opportunity to interact with the older boy. In fact, he'd all but forgotten Tadashi existed through the haze of sleep deprivation, crumbling caffeine highs, and the rusted gears of his brain. Still, anything to take his mind off of ... well, everything.

"It mostly involves recharging my social energy," Hiro replied. As awesome as the nerd crew were in their kooky ways, the lab was chock full of _people_. He _hated_ people.

"Too much too soon?" Tadashi inquired, earning a shrug from the younger. "This _nerd school_ isn't nearly so bad as you want it to be."

Hiro scoffed, loud and heavy. "As I _want it to_ be?" So much for a distraction. He turned to face Tadashi fully. "Look, I had it all set up: I'd spend a maximum of five years working my way up in the underground crime world, take out the head of the Yukaza at first opportunity, and then _I _run this city."

Tadashi quirked an eyebrow. "Wow. Ambitious or delusional—I honestly can't tell." Then his eyes narrowed slightly, a contemplative look adorning his face. "You're a genius, and you intend to use that big brain of yours in the back alleys of San Fransokyo? Now, I'm not going to pretend I know the first thing about organized crime, but I figure it'd be easier on the mind to go out in public knowing nobody wants your head."

So _not_ a man who enjoyed life on the edge, Hiro deduced. _Ah Lei, where do find guys like him?_

"So I should take over this city through legal means?" In faux-consideration, Hiro tapped his chin lightly. "See, that provides a challenge, but it's mostly about the waiting. Buttering people up, upholding public favour, keeping my death ray blueprints a secret. And this college detour has already put a dent in my plans. I just don't have that kind of time to spare."

He felt Tadashi nudge his shoulder lightly, and quickly concluded he liked him enough not to bite his retracting fist. "Then humour me. Tell me the worst thing about this place."

Of course, Hiro then wondered if he'd made the correct decision, giving he could hear the metaphorical _click_ as a puzzle piece clipped into place. Through no conscious will of his own, Hiro felt his eyebrow rise until they melded with the tips of his bangs. "Did a little bird named Leiko Tanaka ask you to threat—ahem, _convince_ me to join the nerd academy?"

To his credit, Tadashi didn't seem the kind of guy who could handle the moral dilemma of telling a lie, of all things. "Not at all," he said, sounding genuine enough to lower Hiro's ascending eyebrows an inch. Then his smile slipped a little as he shed the humour from his expression. "And I'm being serious. Though it would be great if you reconsidered."

It could have been a minute or a second that Hiro stood, stoically watching the older boy, before he sighed. "It's military school across the seas, or this abomination and closeness to Lei at all times." He clicked his tongue loudly, then in his best Callaghan impression said, "Don't really have much of a choice, do I, Mr. Hamada?"

And if nothing else, it brought that easy smile back to Tadashi's face. "Well, if nothing else, I admire your need to be close to your sister."

"Oh, no. Haven't you heard the saying 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer'? She won't be keeping secrets from me anymore."

"Whatever happened to respecting privacy?"

"I make the rules so I can break 'em." Hiro managed a smile for all of a second before he sighed, letting his head droop. "Let's say I apply here, and I get in. Then what? I-I don't have a plan. Leiko has her bike, and the rest of you have robots, chemicals, and plasma beams. And Fred just seems happy. What about me?"

"Hiro, you're fourteen. Nobody has their life planned out at that age. Even I don't know what comes next for me, none of us do. But a part of figuring it out is taking chances. _Maybe_ college isn't right for you, but unless you go for it, you'll spend the rest of your life questioning what could have been."

"Humour me. Tell me what to do."

"Shake things up. Look for a new angle."

-0-

Perhaps he was looking a little too much into it. Four days—yes, it was stressful spending nearly a hundred hours rooting for ideas that wouldn't materialize, but he wasn't at wits end. Not yet.

But still, what harm could it do to try out new things?

Case in point: _looking for a new angle_. And after a solid hour of lying with his head hanging upside down from his bed, Hiro deduced that Tadashi hadn't given his advice in a literal sense.

(After a long, borderline painful four days, Hiro also considered that deduction an accomplishment.)

He sighed loudly, hoisting himself up to sit. Only proceeding to flop face-first into his pillow upon recalling a moment too late the very real threat of a head rush.

Okay, it was getting ridiculous now. Hiro was feeling _pressure_, and it was clogging up the gateway that new ideas cashed in through. Having an empty brain was beginning to feel just a little unnerving.

_Look for a new angle, he said_. _Yeah, how do you suggest I go about that, Tadashi?_

Waiting for ideas hadn't worked, finding himself in college held merit only if he got in to begin with, and he doubted Gogo would be up for offering meaningful advice. Not that she was currently around to give it, anyway.

So with no other options, Hiro sighed again. This was getting nowhere. His destiny lay in a high-class institute where creativity was torn out and disemboweled, a la Megabot versus whichever gullible idiot took the challenge.

At that, Hiro swore a lightbulb flickered above his head.

-0-

If nothing else, Hiro was dedicated. His prominent dislike of entering college was justified, she supposed, but nonetheless, he had his goal and he was working towards it. Granted, the looming threat of military school if he didn't straighten up and fly right provided a fraction of the motivation, no doubt, but one could hardly complain about the results.

As Gogo crept through her darkened home past midnight, ready to collapse on a pile of freshly washed sheets after a long day's work, she wasn't surprised to find lamplight spilling through the chinks in Hiro's bedroom door. Case in point: dedication. And she opened the door slowly to reveal that yes, Hiro had once again fallen asleep hunched over his desk, a soggy lollipop stick poking out between slack lips.

It was an action that baffled her, to be honest. She understood the crippling weight of exhaustion that dragged down the mind as well as the body, but even after the most brutal of sleepless nights, she always had just enough sense left in her to make it home, or at least collapse in Fred's unoccupied armchair, questionable smell be damned. Honey had the threat of simmering chemicals to keep her from snoring over her desk, and Wasabi wouldn't be caught dead sleeping anywhere inappropriate.

Tadashi, on the other hand, was often found using a stack of blueprints as a pillow. Thus Gogo had reached her conclusion: robotics prodigies had impenetrable back strength. Seriously, neither the stiff pillow or arched position looked remotely comfortable, nor could any normal person walk away without the mother of all backaches. And despite the childish sadism of letting Hiro suffer as she had, Gogo was a sister first and foremost.

Fortunately, while Hiro slept like the dead, he was light as a feather. As Gogo eased him bridal style into her arms, kicked back his duvet with her foot, then gently tucked him in, Hiro barely grunted at the movement. If anything, he reacted most to the negation of a choking hazard, whining faintly as Gogo plucked the used lollipop stick from his mouth.

The kid had skewed priorities, Gogo had long decided. Sometimes she wondered if he would react to being thrown head-first out the window, but until she perfected the armour necessary to spare him long-lasting injury, that was a test for another day.

She returned to the desk, but curiosity had her pause as she was reaching to switch off the lamp. Blueprints were scattered across the surface—a common find in Hiro's room—only these looked to be nearing completion as opposed to the growing pile of rejects stuffed into the trashcan. And with sisterly privileges urging her on, Gogo scanned the pages, drinking in the printed knowledge as piecing it together best she could.

Hiro's open notebook, on the other hand, provided a much clearer picture: **Microbots**, he'd scrawled in black marker. She flicked through dozens of pages filled to the brim with crude sketches, idle notes, and prototype plans. Megabot was propped proudly beneath the lamp, serving as much needed inspiration, from the look of things.

Gogo allowed herself a small smile as she turned away from the desk, flicking off the light as she went. She promised herself that come tomorrow, it would be dedicated to her brother. Whether he wanted spicy ramen, a pair of helping hands, or someone to torment under knowledge that he was loved too much to have his face smashed in, Gogo internally signed herself up for a day of compromising torture.

Hiro shifted on his bed. His head lolled to the side and his fingers twitched in response to his dream. And though Gogo had decided they were far beyond the age of forehead kisses, running her hand through his fluffy mop of hair was a pleasant compromise.

"Sleep tight while you can, Hiro. College'll wring you dry."

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Whew, that was fun. Next chapter is the showcase! With a few subtle changes sprinkled here and there, the plot shall develop further.

(Side note: Hiro is more informed of SFIT than in canon. Tadashi never spoke much of his college life, but I'd say Gogo likes to rant a bit. Thus Hiro knew the names and general appearances of the nerd crew, and that Robert Callaghan teaches at the school.)

Lollipops are Hiro's brain food. Reviews are mine. A few little words go a long way. :)


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** It's late, _late_, LATE! But in my defense, I've been writing more for the fandom. Expect those abysmally lengthy one-shots soon.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

As much as Hiro tried, bless him, his ability to conceal the physical hints to his emotional state was abysmal. Or maybe, since their typically eagle-eyed parents went about none the wiser, it was a sixth sense that came with being an older sister.

Either way, Hiro fruitlessly hid his nerves behind exaggerated confidence and a snarky tongue. It was quite endearing, really. He sat in the dining room, staring down at a stack of untouched blueberry pancakes with microbots prancing through glazed, chocolate-brown irises.

"Tell me, Hiro," their mother inquired over a steaming mug of coffee, "are you feeling nervous?"

Despite, or perhaps because of the grey shadows decorating the skin beneath his eyes, Hiro's reflexes were unnaturally on point. He snapped back to reality at the call of his name, blinking once, then twice, before he smiled a little too widely. But any garbled words on his lips remained unspoken as their father cut in;

"Don't be ridiculous." Hiroto waved a hand dismissively. "The doors to college are wide open for him. You're adding unnecessary stress, Jilynn."

From her perch against the counter, Gogo stirred her own coffee, simultaneously plucking her wad of gum from her lips and wedging it beneath the handle of her mug. Her eyes flickered from person to person, circling over her parents' banter to her brother's _I'm definitely alive, right?_ state-of-mind.

"You've never had faith in them. Be optimistic for once!"

"I never put stock in 'guarantees', Hiroto. Our son doesn't have his acceptance letter, not yet. A person must earn their place, not pray on their lucky stars."

Big talk for parents who didn't plan to attend that night.

Five minutes into the debate, Hiro straightened his back once he located his voice. "You're both making too big a deal out of this. Seriously, I have this in the bag."

Lips concealed behind her mug, Gogo smirked. "Yupp," she drawled. "He's nervous."

-0-

Like any another generic, lazy morning, three college students plus Fred were gathered in their permanently reserved booth at the Lucky Cat Café, each nursing a cup of coffee that'd sustain them through their afternoon classes.

In between general natter of upcoming exams and end-of-term projects, it was with no prior warning that Fred inquired, "The showcase is in two days. You going?" without looking up from his comic book.

Tadashi paused momentarily. Had the month darted by already? He mentally skimmed over the past dates, quickly concluding that Fred's announcement was accurate. "And miss seeing Gogo's brother in action?" he replied with a grin. "I said I'd come along for moral support."

Since day one, in fact. Gogo had returned to campus the morning after Hiro's need for patching up, failing to hold back the ghost of a smirk that graced her lips. It took minimal prompting from Fred for her to spill the _fabulous_ news of Hiro choosing to apply for college at long last. And while his four friends had counted it a success, Tadashi felt a twang of sympathy for the boy in light of Gogo's sisterly sadism.

But he'd also be lying if he said he wasn't happy at the turn of events, however contrived.

Honey perked up at the news. "They've both been so tight-lipped about the project. I wonder what Hiro has planned."

"I can assure you right here and now, it'll be awesome," Fred interjected. His attention successfully diverted from his comic book, he wore a lazy grin of overconfidence. "Hiro is our sixth ranger, if most likely to turn traitor. You can't always trust siblings, or the new guy."

"Well, I can't imagine any reason Hiro would have to betray us. He barely knows us, as it is."

For all their talk of Hiro during the past month, the boy himself had been a non-entity in the halls of SFIT. His dedication to his project kept him busy, according to Gogo, and had denied regular visitation rights through paranoia of any distractions that could cause him to miss the deadline. Not that it had stopped Honey from sending a motivational video message to him once a week, but if Gogo was privy to those, she hadn't said a word.

Determination, however, had yielded results: through a combination of shameless bribing and sucking up, their combined pleas had chipped away at the stubborn rule. Thus Hiro had been coaxed away from his 3D printer and homemade tools (under Fred's self-prescription of "the joy of relaxation"), and despite initial fretting on his part, Hiro had integrated well into their group dynamic. The gap that separated them through age was filled by his superior intelligence; even with his impulsive teenage maturity, it was only his petite build that reminded the twenty-something year olds that their honorary member was only fourteen.

"Yeah, just like Terra had no reason to betray the Titans. She exploited their goodwill and look what happened."

While Fred smirked lazily, as though the cartoon comparison squashed all counter-arguments, Honey piped up, "Then how about we just keep him away from masked terrorists looking to manipulate him? Terra was perfectly fine until Slade found her."

"Sound like a plan," Tadashi decided aloud, just as Fred geared up for an additional rant.

-0-

It was a curious sensation, to wake up to butterflies fluttering through the post-sleep daze, but in the time it took for his mind and body to work in-sync, Tadashi chose to relish the nostalgic feeling he hadn't experienced since Christmas morning who knew how long ago.

Then as he unconsciously meshed the date with the anticipated deadline, Tadashi felt the last shreds of drowsiness abandon him. The annual showcase was that evening, and with it came Hiro's hit-or-miss shot at entry into his college of choice. (Or at least the way Hiro had put it, one would expect tonight was the final judgment between life or death.)

As he got up and went about his morning routine, Tadashi let his mind wander. Thinking about it, he hadn't a clue as what to expect. He recalled attending the showcase a grand total of once, back during his freshman year in college. His desire to witness the spectacle had been fueled by pure curiosity, to see the lengths of how much he could expect from his time in the prestigious college.

That, and Honey had insisted he be a good sport and show moral support to his potential future classmates.

But beyond that, he thought of Hiro. And he frowned. The younger boy certainly had the brains to get into SFIT, Tadashi had no doubt, but as he'd discovered from the full-force of Professor Callaghan's rigorous and maximum commitment regime, intelligence only took one so far. On the flip side, Hiro was _definitely_ reckless and formidable enough to endure the pressure, if his reputation as a bot-fighter did him justice.

Yet how many students with that combination had Tadashi seen drop out during his three years there?

He shook his head, ashamed of his turn of thought. What was with the negativity? He _wanted_ Hiro to attend college, and he was confident that with the younger's blend of intelligence and dedication, the showcase was nothing more than a formality before classes begun.

A psychology major he was not, but Tadashi had experienced too much not to realize for himself that the mind had a tendency to blow potential concerns into full-out fears.

He was overthinking this to the extreme.

-0-

"Tadashiii! My main man, you made it!"

Right on cue, there was Fred, for once roaming campus out of his mascot gear. He sauntered over to Tadashi as the latter removed the keys from his Vespa, an almost manic grin on his face.

"I make a habit to keep my promises," he responded as he removed his helmet. "Who else is around?"

"Who else—? The showcase isn't for another three hours. Wasabi and all said they'd help transfer Project X, so we're looking at some bro-time."

He couldn't recall ever walking across a deserted campus. Even during late nights, Tadashi wasn't the only student dedicated and stubborn enough to power through the exhaustion. Yet aside from a few stragglers here and there, the hallways and labs were empty, with a majority of the population migrating in the exhibition hall in preparation for that evening.

"This place is a ghost town," he commented aloud. "Is it like this every year?"

"Hit 'n miss." Fred shrugged. "Kinda boring. But the pay-off is _worth it_. Every year, something goes down. Until then, it's all about the wait."

The main lab was as barren as the rest of campus; so unnaturally _quiet_ in the absence of Honey's idle singing, and Wasabi's protests to whichever violation Gogo had chosen to breach that day. That said, Fred immediately took it upon himself to fill the void with mindless, though enthusiastic chatter.

-0-

The end was nigh. Moment of truth. Judgment Day. So on and so forth.

For once in his short life, Hiro felt nervous. The whole _butterflies in my stomach and my brain is full of helium_ brand of nerves wracked through him. And it was a little unnerving.

He was an ex bot-fighter, a pre-teen high school graduate, a _survivor_—the last thing he should have felt was anxiety. Yet his heart fluttered as he got dressed that morning, his hands trembled as he double-checked everything about the bots, and time flip-flopped between passing too fast and too slow.

He was officially on edge, and try as he might, he couldn't shift the weight he was suffocating beneath.

Gogo, despite the malicious glint present in her eyes, was being as attentive as her empathic range allowed. "You're overthinking it," she told him, sealing shut the final wheelie bin. "Take a breather, and I'll finish up here."

A breather? _Ha!_ Hiro doubted his frazzled nerves would grant him five minutes of peace.

"Or pace some more," she went on as he resumed doing just that. "Wasabi'll be here in an hour. Save some energy until then."

That was enough to spark a train of thought in Hiro's overactive mind.

Wasabi. Honey Lemon. Fred. Tadashi.

Somewhere along the way, between a steady stream of early mornings and late nights that made up Hiro's manic building spree, Gogo's friends had become his, too. Looking back, Hiro rarely had friends to speak of, but as a big fish in a small pond wandering aimlessly through the trials of high school, a lesson he learned early was that he preferred a life of willful solitude.

But still, interacting so easily with Gogo's beloved nerd crew almost had Hiro regretting not signing up for college a year earlier.

He shook off the thought. It wasn't the time for regrets. Things were happening _now_ that demanded attention, there was no point in lingering on "_what if_."

So as Hiro helped the crew load the recycling bins into the back of Wasabi's van (and no, he wasn't pouting over his shot-down plan of travelling and transferring the microbots to the showcase the _obvious_ way), he told himself six times over that he _had_ corrected that minor glitch in the coding and if anything could have gone wrong, it would have.

He was running on pre-show time adrenaline and jittery paranoia. A sleepless night had been spent going over last-minute tune ups to the microbots' coding and a few dozen more check-ups to reassure himself that everything was where it should be and that no, the bots hadn't spontaneously combusted within the wheelie bins during any of the previous five minutes.

So in theory, there was absolutely nothing to worry about, right?

_Absolutely nothing to worry about_, Hiro told himself firmly. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, a tense smile on his face as the lights of San Fransokyo's early night-life skimmed over the interior of Wasabi's van. This was just irrational jitters, like his first bot-fight. Only fascination wasn't consistent to take the edge off it.

Bot-fighting. Oh, Hiro didn't think he'd miss it. Like breathing or eating, it was a natural checkpoint of his life. How he'd taken that hobby for granted ...

Gogo had _so_ opened the gateway to revenge for stabbing him in the back like that.

("She's only looking out for you," Honey had mentioned quietly. "Sisters worry like that.")

("You _did_ bring it on yourself by going against your agreement," Wasabi interjected, somewhat meekly. "A system only works through co-operation.")

("I'd say 'don't worry about it', but she's still mad at me for getting peanut butter on her notes," Fred spoke with uncharacteristic dejection. "This is the exact problem invisible snacks would avoid.")

Hiro let his mind run amok with ever more creative revenge schemes as the intimidating sight of the exhibition hall drew close. One by one, the barrels were unloaded, each one assigned to their designated nerd as they wheeled through the imposing doors.

_No turning back now_.

-0-

Tadashi only had one other attendance to compare it to, but he considered it safe to say that this year's showcase was guaranteed to be a memorable one. Hydrodynamic engineering, for one, and a variety of different creations he had no name for—were those _rocket boots_ for a cat?

(He recalled a memory, long since buried beneath time and dust, of a fluffy haired three year old insisting their aunt's plump, shiftless cat could be made more exciting with the ability to fly.)

"Be honest with me," Hiro asked no one in particular, "is this the usual competition year after year?"

"It's more or less the same each time," Fred supplied. _Major science enthusiast_ that he was, the mascot religiously attended each showcase with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. "Which is why I'm counting on _you_ to shake things up, lil' man."

"So what you're saying is 'no pressure'," Hiro piped, but the poor kid looked just a little bit intimidated at the implication. Tadashi's heart went out to him.

"Try not to take anything he says too seriously," Tadashi interjected, anything to soften the unintentional blows to his nerve. "And think of it this way: you have a functioning project ready in under a month of development. That alone would impress Professor Callaghan."

"Ah, great! So I can pick up my acceptance letter on the way out? Dinner's on me, guys. I'm in the mood to celebrate—!" His sentence went unfinished as a firm hand snagged his hood.

"Just remember that overconfidence can lead to blindness. I heard that's how Gogo broke her arm during first semester."

At that, Hiro's head snapped in the direction of the accused. "I knew it! You _were_ playing chicken on the highway, weren't you?"

With a _pop_ of her gum, Gogo promptly turned on her heel and wheeled the carrier across the hall.

"Not that she was subtle about it to begin with," Hiro murmured. He looked up at Tadashi, one eyebrow raised. "Is it true she got all the way to campus before calling an ambulance, or did she just threaten the paramedics to follow her cover story?"

"Gogo doesn't do things half way. She made it through her morning classes before Wasabi realized her arm shouldn't be pointing in that angle."

Hiro whistled, low and long. "Damn. Oh, and for the record, she's the only one who abuses her health insurance. My record is spotless."

"Oh." A very _un_Tadashi-like grin dominated the older boy's lips. "Then I guess that means she was lying about the incident involving blue dye and frying your hair off?"

It wasn't quite Gogo levels of pummeling-hard-yet-leaving-no-bruise, but Hiro found solace that his fist connecting with Tadashi's bicep was hard enough to elicit a proclamation. (Granted, it was quiet and accompanied by a grin, but Hiro counted it a victory, nonetheless.)

"From this moment on," Hiro held up a finger, Baymax-style, "that never happened. You're a great guy, Tadashi. I _really_ don't want to have to kill you."

To his credit, Tadashi managed not to smile. "My lips are sealed."

As the older boy then turned to lug the wheelie bin into its designated spot, ten feet from the main stage, Hiro swerved on his heel to observe his imminent competition. One thing was certain: _I'm not playing with the little kids anymore_.

He mentally went over his planned routine for the sixteenth time that day. As awesome he new tech may be, it would be swept under the rug if he couldn't draw attention to it. He needed to captivate the audience, leave them with awe in their eyes and implant hunger for more. A _golly gosh_, _I'm such a naïve little kid_ gimmick held no salt here.

It meant he had to work outside his comfort zone. Oh, the unspeakable horror—

"Mr. Hamada," a new voice spoke. "Not a face I expected to see here tonight."

Back from his brief voyage, Tadashi perked up to face the newcomer. "Professor Callaghan! Uh, this year it seems I have reason to attend."

_Too much too soon_.

As Tadashi indicated to Hiro, the younger boy felt his body seize up under the scrutiny of the acclaimed man, feeling akin to a specimen beneath a microscope. But he felt his uncharacteristic anxiety melt away as the words that spilled from Professor Callaghan's lips proved to be ones of genuine warmth;

"Hiro Tanaka, I see." He offered his hand, which Hiro gratuitously shook. "I've been wondering if this would be the year I would see you up on stage, but your sister informed me you were quite serious about your bot-fighting career."

_That smug, self-centered_—_! _"Ah, she exaggerates. Don't trust anything that comes outta her mouth."

"Hm. Then perhaps I should take her statement of your untapped genius with a grain of salt."

"You just gave me bragging rights that'll last at least the week. Surprising, really. I mean, you're the guy who hauled Leiko's butt off the street and into class. Now you're sabotaging her. Heh, maybe you'll bag both Tanaka siblings into this school."

"I hope you aren't under the impression that you can curry favour as an unfair advantage."

"With my untapped genius, I don't need to. Besides, the bot-fighting thing _was_ reaching an all-time high."

"I can promise it's not as glamorous a lifestyle as it may seem. My daughter lost her two front teeth at fifteen from playing a big girl in the arena."

Abigail Callaghan, prodigy daughter of the famous robotics expert, Robert Callaghan. He'd heard the details from Gogo on occasion, but a bot-fighter? That was new information. Teeth smashed in? Oh, he'd like to find a news outlet which documented _that_.

"_Ouch_." Hiro winced at the mental image of blood and broken teeth. Granted, it was a minor compared to shattered legs, but still. "Is that what convinced her to leave?"

"Not for another year, unfortunately." Professor Callaghan bristled at the thought. "Abigail had an ... unsavoury friend who kept drawing her back in, but once that relationship ended, she opted to cut her losses and keep the remainder of her dental plan."

_Huh_, Hiro pondered, quenching the need to take a step back. He knew that expression, that tone of voice; it was a downgraded version of "Young lady, why couldn't you have listened to me back then? Now you're all smashed up and I don't know how to help you," personified.

Or maybe that was just personal experience angling to dig up dusty memories. Either way, Hiro tallied up one point for subjects he and the esteemed professor would have to discuss in future, should the opportunity for a heart-to-heart present itself.

_Awkward_.

"Um, Hiro?" Tadashi—oh, sweet, heavenly, unknowingly merciful _Tadashi_—intervened. "They'll be calling your name any moment now."

It was as much a reality call for Professor Callaghan, who straightened up at the proclamation. "Ah, yes. I should be off before anyone can accuse me of playing favourites. I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table, Mr. Tanaka."

By the time Callaghan had disappeared back into the crowds, Hiro scarcely remembered it was impolite not to offer a formal goodbye. He slapped a hand to his forehead, cursing both his mental block and Tadashi's reality check.

Okay, he just had to breathe. Bot-fights were vastly more dangerous than applying to a _nerd school_. He could do this. Step one: acquire the neurotransmitter.

Except he couldn't grip it. Ugh, why was the damn thing so fiddly? Too many clips, slides, and who knew what else—sturdy, yes, but inconvenient! Hiro stopped, took a deep breath, the tried to pick at the clip with his stubby fingernails.

He was close to screaming in frustration when large hands enveloped his own. Hiro jolted and looked up sharply, mildly surprised to find Tadashi watching him in concern.

"Here, lemme help," he said, and before Hiro could respond, Tadashi ran his thumb over the band and unclasped it easily.

"Uh, thanks." Lame voice of gratitude, Hiro lamented, but his body currently didn't feel like his own. He had _butterflies in his stomach_—he'd never felt that before! Gods, the whole showcase was messing with him. Maybe he'd done right on skipping out on lunch, thus had no ammunition for his rebelling stomach to throw up.

Tadashi's smile reeked of compassion. "No one's judging you for being nervous. It happens to the best of us."

"I think it's a bad sign that right now, I'd rather be in a one-on-one fist fight against Yama and backup." And in the worst stage whisper, he uttered, "So here's the plan: while I sneak out the back door, you provide a distraction, got it?"

He'd come to expect light-hearted sarcasm from Tadashi, in his short time of knowing him. But instead, Tadashi observed him with an emotion Hiro couldn't put a name to, and asked, "Do you really not want to go here?" in a neutral tone; lacking judgment, surprise, or curiosity.

Or any grating pitch Hiro had long since become accustomed to.

"It's not that, it's—it's complicated."

He needed comfort food. A month-long project had burned through his emergency lollipop supplies—where was Baymax when Hiro needed him? He'd take sugar-free lime over sucking on his own bottom lip any day.

"There's still time to talk."

"With you?"

Tadashi shrugged with one arm, a hint of his smile returning. "Would you rather Gogo?"

_Yes_. _No_. _I don't know_.

Running a hand through his hair, Hiro sighed loudly. "I _do_ want to go here, I guess." His shoulders slumped. "It's just ... is this really where I want to be? Science major, head-hunted, CEO? I don't see it, Tadashi."

"No one knows where they're going to be in five years. I don't know what I'll be doing, I'll bet that Gogo doesn't have a plan. Besides, you're fourteen, Hiro. Genius or not, no one has a plan at that age."

_And in the words of every other advisor I've met: _"College is about figuring it out, right?"

"What do you have to lose?"

If only Tadashi knew that Hiro had a notebook on standby, filled to the brim with reasons detailing exactly what he had to lose. Physically, nothing. But psychologically, emotionally, the works? That was a path he didn't want to walk down again.

"_Hiro Tanaka_."

It was a death toll throughout the hall. A knot coiled in Hiro's stomach as he chimed to himself: _Just another bot-fight_. _Yama saw through your act, but if you beat him just once, the debt is cleared and you're home free_. _Gear up and do this, Tanaka!_

Oh yeah, he'd _definitely_ made the right decision in skipping mealtimes. "Uh—"

"Flaking out already?"

Hiro was felt relieved, yet mortified at the sound of Gogo's voice. He turned sharply to face her, uncaring of the blatant confliction written on his face. "Leiko, they're not _ready!_ It's only been a month, a-and I'm basically trying to impress Robert Callaghan with his own invention—who does that!? It's like waving your bike in front of your face and saying, 'Hey, you like my invention? Did it all myself.'"

Despite the garbled mess his words came out as, Gogo didn't flinch. "You take one thing and you make it better. There's nothing wrong with having a starting point someone else etched out." She quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you've spent the last year thinking I invented the theory of electro-magnetism?"

"Were you ever this nervous?" He didn't have the hold to _try_ and be sarcastic. Gogo didn't miss it.

"All the time." She smiled serenely. "It's true, though. It's no different than what you did with my bike. But you impressed me when you made the skates."

"Would've been _real_ nice to know that at the time." He sighed wearily, feeling the familiar weight settle on his shoulders. "I wanna do this, Lei. But if I screw this up—"

Gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders, and bent slightly to meet him at eye-level. "Hiro, look at me."

He didn't comply immediately, as though it required substantial effort just to consider it. But eventually, as Gogo proved she would wait as long as it took, Hiro met her eyes, finding nothing more than compassion swirling in her irises that he hadn't witnessed in a fair few years.

"You're a cocky, arrogant, _insufferable_ brat, and you could revolutionize the world if you put your mind to it. If a washed-up delinquent like me can gain acceptance here, then doors to this place are wide open for you." She squeezed his shoulders. "You got this."

"Think so?"

"Yes, Hiro. Now quit your whining and woman up."

-0-

Hiro was so tiny on stage, swamped by his visible nervousness. He gripped his microphone like a lifeline as he stammered out his intro sentence, knuckles white from the pressure.

Gogo felt pangs of sympathy. His snarkiness aside, fear of disappointment was his weakness. She met his eyes as he searched for her, and offered a smile of encouragement.

_You got this, Hiro_.

Slowly, he nodded. Then briefly, his gaze lingered to her right, focusing for a fleeting moment on Tadashi. Gogo followed his stare, catching sight of the elder boy looking back just as intently, and whispering simply, "Breathe."

And then, cheesiness be damned, _magic_ happened.

Thousands of microbots erupted from the bins the six of them had scattered throughout the exposition hall, cascading towards Hiro in inky waves. She watched with pride and no small bout of wonder as her brother effortlessly captivated the growing audience with a stunning display of technical knowledge and natural showmanship.

Oh, he was going to be unbearable for the remainder of the week, riding high on the biggest ego boost of his young life. But if Gogo were to imply she gave a damn, no bolder lie would ever tumble from her lips.

The presentation finished to a thunderous applause, and Gogo wasted no time in weaving through the crowd as Hiro jumped down from the stage, willfully ignorant to the audience as she enveloped her giddy brother in a hug. Hiro had likely revolutionized robotics in less than three weeks, and it didn't even matter—her little brother had nailed the "audition" and so help her, she'd hug him all week if she chose. His bragging rights and watchful eyes be damned.

"Damn, Lei," Hiro teased, and she _knew_ he was smirking. "Think of your reputation."

With a roll of her eyes, Gogo loosened her grip, slipping her hand to his shoulders again. "You doubted me, didn't you?"

He clapped a hand to his chest, his expression one of mock-offense. "Why, I don't know _what_ you're implying. Though if, say Honey—you know, the honest one?—had told me the same, I'd have had no reason to."

Any snarky comeback Gogo might have had on standby was overrun by a smile and four nerds glomping them both in a group hug.

"Nailed it!"

"You just blew my mind, dude!"

"They loved you! That was _amazing!_"

"Yes," an unfamiliar voice pitched in. "With some development, your microbots could be revolutionary."

Strange. That voice sounded vaguely familiar, but for the life in her she couldn't put a name to it. Frustrated with the brief block, Gogo turned and found—

—wait, was that _Alistair Krei?_

She frowned. There'd been theories of the CEO's attendance drifting about the hallways, but she'd never put much stock in the rumour mill. For once, it seemed like the student body had struck the nail on this one.

And the man in question was looming over her brother. Too invested to notice her side-stepping closer to Hiro.

"I want your microbrots at Krei Tech."

There it is, the only call as to why a multi-millionaire took the time to visit a student expo for the evening. But before Gogo could intervene for her impressionable brother, a new voice beat her to the punch.

She _felt_ that metaphorical punch as she identified that scathing tone as belonging to Professor Callaghan, of all people. Her soft-spoken, determined, brilliant mentor was staring Krei down like he was a stubborn wad of dirt stuck to the sole of his boot.

For once in her life, Gogo was at loss for words. It was only at Krei's line of, "I'm offering you more money than you could ever dream of," that she jolted to attention, eyes narrowing at the sly glint in Hiro's eyes.

_Don't tell me you're planning what I think you are_—

"Sorry, Mr. Krei. They're not for sale."

Without releasing the breath she was holding, her gaze darted over to Callaghan. She definitely wasn't imagining the relief mingled in with blatant loathing. Odd ...

"Do give me a call if you change your mind, Mr. Tanaka. I daresay you will always be welcome in Krei Tech Institute of Technology."

The timing was truly impeccable: as Callaghan briefly turned away from the interaction—in disgust?—it was the very moment Hiro swiped the offered business card from Krei's hand. With a sly, mostly concealed grin he muttered;

"Expect my call."

That little _brat_.

-0-

Had there always been so many genius-starved recruiting officers swarming past showcases? Once Hiro had stepped out of the backstage area, he'd been approached by five unnamed, insistent professors before he was close enough to see the door.

But on the flip side, the months of dodging stray punches on route to escaping bot-fights gone wrong had prepared both of them for such an occasion. Gogo glanced down as Hiro looked up; a silent agreement passed through two sets of brown eyes before the siblings simultaneously began weaving through the thick crowd, working on top speed until they burst through the exit.

As she ushered Hiro to a more secluded portion of campus, Gogo only hoped the group wouldn't mind being used as a diversion. "Callaghan would've wrung your neck if he heard that," she muttered.

Hiro looked up in blatant surprise. "You were listening?"

"I was right there, Hiro."

"You're ... _impossible_ to deal with sometimes. I thought you valued my privacy."

"I worry about you more. My little brother; college man; business partner; hypocrite—" She grimaced. "—_bleh_."

"Lemme guess—you got bitten by the green-eyed bug." He sighed, and in a mock tone of sympathy, crooned, "I know it's hard, competing against your own flesh and blood, but you know the saying: _it's never too late to catch up_."

Her tone was pure sarcasm: "How did I ever survive without you?"

Hiro discarded his opaque façade to smirk. "Some of life's mysteries are ones we'll never know. I say we buckle up and enjoy life as it is. 'Cause from now on, we're spending a _lot_ of it together."

Oh, _joy_. She wanted to be snarky, to pick up the thread and turn his comments against him, but Hiro's elation was infectious and Gogo found a smile quirking at her lips, against her own violation.

And to hell with it.

"Do you feel that?" Hiro was nattering on. "I'm feeling it; this place is inspiring me. I say, invisible sandwiches for all by the end of the week."

Gogo rolled her eyes, then cocked her head as Hiro turned on his heel. "Where're you heading off to?"

"I, uh," he stammered, looking a tad nervous. She raised an eyebrow, which prompted him to elaborate, "I wanted to take some microbots home to help out. Y'know, maybe help with the cooking or cleaning or organizing—"

"Or use them to sneak out." She shook her head, smiling. "You get into SFIT and you still plan to go back there? What am I gonna do with you, kiddo."

"I'm gonna take that as your blessing and say _you're the best sister a guy could ask for_."

"Then get out of my sight before I change my mind."

He was gone before she could finish her sentence. _Typical_.

Then as a new, deeper voice interjected, "Let me guess, this is where you try to say thank you?" she wondered if this was the curse of tolerance.

"People say you're _humble_," Gogo drawled. She leaned against the bridge railing, allowing herself a moment to drink in the aesthetic of her college campus. Though it'd be awkward to admit it aloud, the bridge was the perfect spot to catch a stunning view. "Try living up to that legend."

Oh, she _knew_ Tadashi had that playful glint in his eyes. "I'm not hearing it," he teased, earning himself a shove.

"_Thank you_, Tadashi, for helping kick my brother's rear in gear and setting him on a path to self-destruct."

"It's nice to know you have faith in him."

She bit down on her recent bubble of gum. "He's a college man, now. I'm giving it a week before he's plagiarizing your notes to make a battle-bot Baymax two-point-oh."

Tadashi leaned against the railing alongside her, folding his arms. "Feeling generous in your deduction, huh?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Then I'm predicting three more days before he kills someone with it. Ten bucks says it's himself."

"Regretting certain decisions by this point?"

Tadashi was smiling, but if he could pull off a smirk, she didn't doubt he'd be doing so. Instead, she offered her own in return; a genuine, full-fledged smirk.

"Not for a second."

Easy come, easy go.

Beneath them, the ground rumbled—a violent pulse shuddering through the earth and threatening to knock them off balance. Gogo gripped the railing with one hand, and Tadashi's upper arm with the other. He latched onto her shoulder, surprise overwhelming his previously calm demeanour.

"What—"

Another pulse, this one they were somewhat prepared for. But then a shrill beeping ensued.

At first, Gogo dismissed it as a car alarm. Until the screaming began. She met Tadashi's eyes in the moment he looked for hers, then they both kicked into action, sprinting towards the school and the origin of the audible terror.

The building was in flames. Students, teachers, spectators alike ran in a reckless dash away from the fire, too overcome by panic to comprehend anything beyond the fire, and getting away from it. Even from a distance, her body broke into a sheen of sweat to combat the heat, her nose stung from the dense plumes of smoke.

"Are you okay?"

Tadashi's voice prickled her senses. She snapped her head towards him; a smoke-stained, spluttering woman leant against him.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay, but—but Professor Callaghan's still in there."

_Shit_, as if it couldn't have gotten worse. Gogo stared up at the daunting blaze, mentally skimming through calculations. If Callaghan hadn't yet succumbed to smoke inhalation, could he make it out on his own?

Damn it, if only she had her skates, she could nip in there herself and guide him out. It would be dangerous, but taking risks was in her blood, a necessity when Hiro was magnetized toward the bot-fighting underworld—

She'd never understood the phrase _ice in the veins_, but she felt a liquid hypothermia creep through her bloodstream as a single, vital thought returned to her.

"_Hiro_."

Her brother was in that burning building.

Gogo felt her body move before she could comprehend it. "No, _no!_ Hiro—!"

But then arms encircled her, rooting her to the spot. It was like an electric pulse through her system; like a woman possessed, Gogo thrashed, kicking and punching anything she could reach. Her arms felt limp, disconnected at the joints, and her flailing slaps earned nothing more than additional pressure holding her back as horrified voices chimed out;

"What are you doing, you can't go in there!"

"The building's gonna collapse—everyone stay back!"

"Tadashi, _no!_"

That one caught her attention. Her muscles seized up as she snapped her head up, a flicker of movement catching her attention. Even through the haze, she identified Tadashi. With speed she hadn't known him to possess, he was running—not away from the fire, but _towards_ it.

What was he _thinking!?_

The structure was crumbling, the fire too intense. Professor Callaghan must be a goner by now, and Hiro—

Her heart clenched.

In an instant, Gogo prayed to whichever gods would listen, promising acts of goodwill and charity, self-sacrifice, _anything_ she could think to offer in return for the safety of her brother.

_Please_, her mind chanted as Tadashi vanished into the flames, _not him_—_anyone but Hiro!_

-0-

It all happened so quickly. Too sudden for anyone to make sense of it. Once the first blast had shaken the back end of the building, the shock had been overridden as the flames burst out and a single thought was branded into several hundred minds in unison: _run_.

There was no consideration as the panicking crowd swarmed the exit, a second blast spreading fire across the ceiling and scattering smouldering debris into the hall below.

Stalled by the fleeing masses, by the time Hiro made a halfway successful attempt to escape, a beam had crashed down and smothered his exit route in flames, as though the inferno was taunting him.

His heart was like a jackhammer against his ribs, flailing about in light of the sheer futility of the situation.

No, _no_, **no!**

This couldn't be happening. _H__ow could it be happening?_

It didn't make sense, none of it—

A splintering _crack_ from above shook him from his dazed ramblings. His head snapped up and his heart sunk. There was no _time_ to make sense of it. The fire was getting worse by the second, and it wasn't doing the crumbling ceiling any favours.

He had to get out. _Fast_. Lest he was willing to become extra crispy barbeque.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, desperation, and delirious high of smoke inhalation churning together, but his thoughts squared down on one conclusion: _microbots_.

Adrenaline boost aside, Hiro was fast when he needed to be. He ran across the hall, swerving through debris, flames, and broken exhibits to reach his goal. Grabbing hold of the neurotransmitter was like ice in his veins, combating the overbearing heat, and securing it around his head assembled his thoughts.

Instantly, he heard the rustle of microbots scurrying to his location, and reacted before he was consciously aware of it. The dark wave of bots pooled around his feet, coiling up to his knees and elevating him up several feet. It was reckless, but when trapped in a burning building, it was the most secure option he had.

With a wall of flames barricading the way to the door and scraps of debris raining down, any route around would be long and dangerous, proving he didn't suffocate first; making a bridge would incinerate the bots before he got halfway (_why_ didn't he make them fireproof!?); whilst additional weight would cave in the ceiling.

He'd have to jump and pray the bots were sturdy enough to endure direct heat just for a while.

_It's just another escape route_. _The alley is burning up, and you have six hunks of brainless muscle looking to smash YOUR brains in_. _You got this, you got this_.

Projecting all his strength to his legs and before his nerves could hold him back, Hiro leapt.

The microbots swarmed immediately, curving over the fire and forming a slanted plate. He landed on it roughly, skidding down like riding a theme-park attraction in dire need of beta-testing. It was bumpy, increasingly hot, and he struggled to keep himself sliding feet-first.

And when he slammed into the dishevelled ground, stumbling and flailing to keep his balance, he felt his body quiver in the onslaught of adrenaline.

He did it. Despite the odds, _he'd done it!_ The door was a few feet away. Fresh air, freedom, _life_—

Then a brutal force slammed into his side, and before Hiro's yelp of shock could leave him, a sickening _crack_ shuddered through his skull.

The collision disconnected his mind from body. He barely registered his legs giving out beneath him, nor the nimble fingers fiddling with the band around his head.

Everything was muted, disoriented, like he'd woken up underwater. The only sound coherent to him was the frantic thud of his heart beating, an octave above the shrill ringing of his impaired hearing.

His head felt like a cinderblock connected to his neck. Lifting it was a tremendous accomplishment, but he immediately regretted trying to shake it, as though he'd have shed the disorientation like water from his skin. He clasped his hands to his temples, which did little to ease the relentless spike piercing his brain.

The world was slowing on its axis: what was happening? What was he doing? Where was "here"?

_Hot_.

_It was so hot_.

Emotions plagued him faster than he could identify, tears marred his cheeks, so much liquid redness coated his hands, and it was so **hot **but he didn't understand _why_.

He needed time figure things out. He was good at that, after all. It wouldn't take long; he just needed another moment to _think_.

"Poor kid. Such a shame."

That voice ... he tried to yell, but ash filled his lungs as he parted his lips, ramming another spike into his head. He closed his eyes again, clapping his hands over his head, mentally pleading for the pain to _stop!_

"Hiro—!"

Voices. Heat. Roaring. All so close, so ruthlessly familiar. Then there were hands on him, rolling him over gently and lifting him up, but none of it mattered through the pain that continued to bulge behind his tightly sealed eyes.

Someone was shaking him, jostling him roughly and twisting the red-hot daggers churning within his skull. Then a chill enveloped his skin, but it was still too hot, too loud, people were yelling amidst an unholy shriek.

A splintering crack of a heavy weight falling was the warning he received before a backlash of scorching air assaulted him. His butchered mind scrambled about, hastily trying to reassemble, as those arms tightened around him while the rest of the world spun into turmoil.

It was too much, he couldn't take it ...

"—ot you, Hiro. Safe now—"

And when he plunged into a dark, painless abyss, he surrendered to it entirely.

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** *promptly gets started on the next chapter*


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note:** I have such an elaborate backstory planned out for Hiro and Gogo. But right now, it's time to breathe easy and bask in reassurance.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Someone sings, and it chases away the poltergeists of the past_. _A gentle hand combing through his wild mane of hair, nimble fingers simultaneously smoothing the locks down and fluffing them up_.

_Dark hair, an alluring scent, a protective embrace_. _Arms coil around him, lax but prepared_. _Nothing would reach the cub nestled in such a confident embrace, invisible strength and deadly skill lining those willowy limbs_.

"_Hiro~!_" _that voice chimes, so warm and inviting_. "_You're so loved, sweet darling_. _So very loved_."

-0-

Hospital visits had always been rare in her family, and exclusively induced on her end.

Gogo vividly recalled the four year old memory of lying in the white sheets, delirious from pain killers with her shattered legs securely wrapped up. Hiro had gripped her least damaged arm, tears coursing down his cheeks as he begged her to abandon street racing and derby's to live another seventy years with him. His voice had trembled then, too, and tiny hands shook her bruised shoulders for being a reckless girl playing an immortal behind a steering wheel and a pane of glass, where the shots for glory meant char-grilled intestines smeared two miles along the highway.

After everything, she couldn't say no to him. She owed him that much; his jaw still ached under the weight of the bruise.

Gone was that irrational teenager, and open were the gates to a literal endurance of hell to regain what she'd lost. But she'd learned her lesson. Deep-ingrained spite shouldn't have motivated Hiro to invest in a 3D printer and march into the arena, that pint-sized hypocrite.

_It was just an accident_, she told herself. _It could have happened to anyone, at anytime_.

_Just an accident waiting to happen_.

Somehow, the thought made Gogo's blood boil.

-0-

"_Hiro, darling_. _You're doing it again_."

_Six years old and caught out again, Hiro retracted his thumb from his mouth, clenching his saliva-flecked fist and shoving it in his pocket_._ His face contorted to a frown, glaring down at math problems he'd solved five times over_.

_From across the room, Jilynn Tanaka sighed_. _It had taken a solid month of discouraging Hiro's childish habit, yet on impulse, the appendage continued to slip past her son's lips_. _She'd condoned the thumb-sucking for a full two years, but enough was getting to be enough_.

"_It's a terrible habit_," _she said, ignoring the deep lines etched into his face_. _One thing at a time_. "_You understand that, don't you? You'll ruin your teeth, which means you'll get fitted for braces if it comes to worst_. _And I know you don't want that_."

_As typical, Hiro offered no reply, but Jilynn didn't miss the increased tension in his tiny knuckles_. _She sighed again, pressing two fingers to her temple and massaging gently_. _Patience was a virtue in raising children, but she feared the last of her tolerance had been burned up since Leiko had arrived home with a full head of electric blue hair_.

_Just the memory of the ensuing row brought on a budding headache_.

-0-

Hiro had looked so small up on stage, yet swathed in bandages and stitches against a backdrop of white, he seemed smaller, still. His skin was the wrong shade of pale, nearing grey against the solid white sheets; the only healthy bout of colour came from his hair—that messy blot of inky black lining the monochrome image his burnt form personified.

"You're something else, Hiro." She sat in the chair tucked neatly beside his bed, her eyes unwavering from his unconscious features. "Bot-fighting? I could get on board with that. But getting trapped in a fire ten minutes after your acceptance into college? I'm impressed. My luck wasn't that bad."

Beeps. Whirring. Artificial breathing.

Gogo wanted to vomit. She swallowed back bile, mind set on not making a scene by stinking out the room with the stench of stomach acids and bleach.

"It's only been a day." Slender fingers squeezed her shoulder. Honey Lemon. "This is Hiro; he _will_ wake up. He must be so tired, just give him time."

Sweet, not-so naïve Honey. As an older sister herself, she understood. And how Gogo _hated_ that; she wanted to be unreasonable, immature, to lash out and rip apart the sterile room. Had it been anyone but Honey speaking those words, then Gogo knew that irrational desire would become reality.

So instead, she breathed deeply. In unison with the machinery hooked up to Hiro, she inhaled slowly through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth. Just like the yoga videos their mother often played.

_Inhale_._ Exhale_._ Inhale_._ Exhale_.

Slowly, her trembling hands stilled and Gogo managed a tense smile in Honey's direction. The blonde was like a barnacle; however firmly Gogo insisted she, at least, went home and got some rest, Honey would conveniently go deaf until Gogo zipped her lips.

With a smile that'd defuse any situation via guilt, Honey made it clear she was there to stay, and Gogo realized how exhausting it was trying to uphold misguided fury, as distracting as it was.

"Updates?"

The rare intervals where Fred or Wasabi checked in were the same; both boys had been reluctant to discuss the fire. Honey had been more upfront, lightly offering news of outside that maddening room.

Some nameless firefighters had relinquished the details; faulty wiring on a project had jump-started the fire, and a chemical spillage had caused it to spread so quickly. It was bound to happen one day, another had said, with so many different kinds of technology lying around and a curious crowd that universally misunderstood the phrase _look, don't touch_.

Just an accident waiting to happen.

Gogo wanted to punch the wall in.

Those chemical-infused flames had been so strong, it took all night and most of the morning to contain it. By that point, they'd long since quit hoping for the impossible.

Professor Robert Callaghan was unaccounted for, last witnessed trapped in the fire, too far from any exit.

They only hoped the smoke did him in before the flames had the chance.

Her social skills could use a tune-up. Physically expression affection didn't come easy to her, but Gogo gently patted the hand on her shoulder. As awkwardly tense as the action was, Honey managed a smile, understanding the message words couldn't convey.

-0-

"_What'cha thinking about?_"

_Hiro stared at his sister, her brown eyes alight with curiosity as she twirled a ballpoint pen through expert fingers_.

"_You always suck your thumb when you're thinking_. _What'cha thinking about?_"

_He felt scandalized in light of her scrutiny, and quickly turned back to his open Math booklet_._ His COMPLETED booklet, but nonetheless_.

_With a heavy sigh, Leiko flicked back a strand of semi-blue hair_. _The new short length was a bummer to get used to_. _Though her father had threatened to shave her bald as comeuppance, good ol' mother had put her foot down at the suggestion__—as furious as she felt about the new style, she couldn't bear the thought of shearing her daughter's head, even if the alternative was a choppy, Technicolor mop_.

"_Look, if you do it secretly, it's gonna get harder_. _You can go cold turkey, or I can amputate your thumbs_."

_Liar, liar, Hiro wanted to say_. _But the gruesome image of his sister wielding a hacksaw, however unlikely, had him curling his small hands into fists and shoving them safely in his pocket_.

_Again, Leiko sighed_.

_She leant over her school pack, sticking a hand in and rummaging around, her tongue poking out in concentration before her eyes lit up with triumph_. _She withdrew a crumpled, red lollipop and thrust it under Hiro's nose_. "_Here, suck on this_. _It'll take your mind off it, AND it tastes better_. _You like strawberry, dont'cha?_"

_Those warm brown eyes stared up at her, conflicted_. "_Mom said no snacks 'fore dinner_."

_Leiko rolled her eyes, peeling off the wrapper herself_. "_MOM needs to know about compromise_. _You said it's hard to quit sucking your thumb like she wants, right? So suck on this, instead_."

_Hiro stared back at the offered treat, utterly transfixed, but his hand paused midway to take it, and retracted to his chest_.

"_Tell her I made you take it,_"_ she snapped, snatching up his wrist and guiding his fingers to close around the stick_. "_She won't get mad at you, and, well, she can't GET madder at me_."_ At that, she grinned proudly_. "_'Sides, if she still gets mad at you, just ask her about the time she quit smoking_."

-0-

There was no sight, no sound. Just a smell. It felt like sludge oozing up his nostrils, and dragged his heart into his stomach.

Through it, a sterilized scent of bleach struck him like sharp rocks floating through the slurry, a stabbing of nausea through the thick stench he had no name for. Fear churned through him from head-to-toe, a cold sweat beading at the back of his neck.

Hiro didn't know how, why, or when, but he immediately identified the where. Had the fear of the unknown been any less, of delaying the inevitable and stewing in the shadow of the unknown, Hiro would have been content to seal his eyes shut forever.

Consciousness was a fickle thing, and strength returned to him in waves. One minute, he could breathe easy, then the next, cement was drying heavy in his skull.

It felt like an eternity before he caught the perfect timing. Pushing back his broiling nausea, Hiro forced his eyelids apart.

A unpleasant stinging racked through his eyes, the white room illuminated by natural light filtering in from his left. Hiro blinked as quickly as he dared, clinging to the unstable lucidity, and felt the spread of cold sweat enveloping his entire body.

"Lei?"

He grimaced. Was that _his_ voice? Cracked and rough against his throat—not a sound he wanted to hear again. He swallowed weakly, forcing any kind of lubrication down his throat, but he could have been chugging back sand for all the difference it made.

And it made him all too aware of the ache radiating through his neck. _Great_.

Deciding on a distraction, Hiro blearily scanned his surroundings. A tiled ceiling, painted walls, and absolutely nothing of interest. Until he peered down at his arm, his vision roaming over the swath of bandages patching up the damaged skin, with an IV stationed at the crook of his elbow just beyond the gauze, feeding blood or nutrients or whatever into him.

He grimaced, both at the sight and the fact that he was likely to be bound to the uncomfortable bed for a few days at least.

Then a soft sigh caught his attention and his eyes flickered down further. His breath hitched in his burning throat when he saw the mass of purple-streaked hair.

Her face half buried into the sheets, and hand firmly clutching his own, Gogo slept hunched over the bed in a manner that promised a backache. From her scruffy hair, disheveled state of dress, and the bruise-like dusting beneath her eyes, she must have confined herself to his side for a while.

Had it been hours, or days? _Longer?_

Stress could ravage a person, even someone as stubbornly composed as his sister. But even on her worst days, she often looked better.

(_She STILL looks better than the last time we were here_, Hiro told himself.)

A muted grunt alerted him as Gogo shifted where she lay, shoulders rolling back as she blearily lifted her head. Without opening her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose with a grimace, sucking in a deep, husky breath.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. Hiro withheld a sleepy smile. "How do you sleep like this?" As she dug her palm into her eyes in turn, she squeezed Hiro's hand gently. "And yeah—_sorry_ for threatening your innocent ears with bad language."

She sounded so _done_, so resigned to a lifetime of bad backs and mediocre food by his bedside, that Hiro really did smile that time.

"I still don't get why you bother apologizing," he said, despite the grating croak his voice was met with. "Can you imagine if Mom and Dad heard half the stuff I heard at bot-fights?"

Both of Gogo's eyes were wide open now, latched upon Hiro's frail form as though they could physically hold him in place. She seemed indecisive, if not unable to speak, lips marginally parted and her face deceptively stripped clear of emotion. So Hiro took it upon himself to break the ice.

"Morning," he rasped. "Or afternoon. Evening. Whatever."

Her expression didn't twitch, but her hand tensed around his. He mimicked the movement in return. "You're—" She cleared her throat. "How do you feel?"

_You want an honest opinion?_ "Like I died, then you dragged me back from the afterlife so you could kill me again."

"Don't tempt me."

He laughed. Or he would've if his voice had been capable, but a breathy wheeze was an acceptable compromise. Even if the sound made Gogo wince.

And speaking of Gogo, it was obvious she wanted to touch him; from the way her hands _almost_ grazed his cheek or hesitated to brush back his bangs, before falling restlessly back into her lap. She wasn't that emotionally constipated in terms of physical affection; he must have looked like the shattered remains of a half-melted glass figurine.

No brainer, really.

"Hey ... " His reaction was just an opening; the act itself was mutual. Hiro shifted closer to Gogo as his web of needles and wiring allowed, then leant against her in the same moment her arms coiled around him.

"Idiot," she hissed in his ear. "You fucking _idiot_, Hiro."

"You don't really think I ran in there _after_ it caught fire, do you?"

He wasn't dignified with an answer, but rather a tightening of her arms that upgraded the 'protective snuggle' into 'bone-crushing death grip.'

-0-

"Honey, please. I am an excellent people-person. Just leave it all to me."

To is credit, Fred genuinely tried in anything he did. Any promise he made was a promise he kept, but Honey couldn't help but worry. Gogo was on edge enough as it was, and she'd never been one to seek solace in the arms of friends. Perhaps some time alone to think was what she needed, in which case Fred was the last person Honey should have thought to let in ...

But one look at his cheery expression, and Honey's heart melted. She just couldn't say no, not now.

"Just five minutes, in and out," she reaffirmed. "Gogo's a little on edge. Don't take it personally."

Not that Fred was capable of letting anything phase him.

"Honey, please," he said easily, "I guarantee we'll all be feeling better after this visit."

_I wish I could believe that, Freddie,_ she lamented as he swung the door open. Then she promptly collided with his back as he froze solid. "Freddie?" she inquired, baffled.

When she glanced up, it clicked. And Honey smiled in light of a scene as sweet as her name.

Fred, despite his promise, stared. This was new: was Gogo actually _hugging_ someone? Okay granted, that "someone" was her brother, but—

—wait, why was that up for debate? He shook himself, ridding his mind of the bewilderment, and casually approached the two. "Hey, lil' dude, how're they treating you?"

Being addressed directly pierced through the family moment. Hiro peaked through a black fringe from over Gogo's shoulder, whilst his sister gingerly—reluctantly?—released him from her embrace, keeping a firm hold on his hand as a compromise.

Pale skin and bruised eyes aside, the youngest perked up a little. "I can feel myself wasting away." (Honey winced at the deep croak of his voice.) "You've seen the food in this place; do I brave it or stick to an IV?"

A heavy weight dissolved from her heart. While Hiro looked akin to death warmed up, his personality seemed intact. _He's going to be okay_. _They both will_.

"Don't say that, Hiro," Honey Lemon cooed. Appropriately enough, she carried a bag spilling over with cafeteria goods. "The cooks work hard in the kitchen."

The warm scent of pre-baked food churned Hiro's stomach. "And I appreciate their effort, but it still sucks." He tried not to blanch.

"Y'know, if you ask nicely, I'm sure Honey'll whip you up a batch of treats," Fred offered. He sprawled out in the spare chair, propping his feet on the end of the hospital bed and pointedly ignoring Gogo's warning look. "She makes _the_ best brownies."

Gogo perked at the suggestion. "No peanuts," she interjected. "One near-death experience a week, that's our arrangement." She punctuated her words with a pointed look at the invalid, who was absolutely _not_ holding back the childish need to pout.

"We never even tested that theory," Hiro grumbled. Despite his 'suicidal curiosity' (as Gogo had bluntly put it) Baymax's month-old diagnosis had seen the removal of all peanut related goods in the pantry.

"No nuts," Honey promised firmly. She smiled weakly. "Just good ol' chocolate."

Fred, meanwhile, grinned unabashedly. "See? Home cooking makes everything better." Then he turned fully to Hiro, the glint in his eyes dulled marginally by a somber tone. "Seriously, though. It's great to have you back, little dude. Gave us all a fright back then."

"All of you, huh?" _Speaking of _... "Where're the other two?"

Bad choice, bad choice!

The tentative atmosphere considerably thickened with anxiety. At the redirection of Honey's gaze and Fred's uncomfortable shifting, a heavy weight settled on Hiro's chest as something uneasy coiled in his stomach.

_Back it up, make this easier on them_.

But of course, he was a masochist. "Unless all this attention isn't just for me ... ?"

Unease was a dreadful look on Fred. Unnatural, just plain wrong. With the look of a deer trapped in the headlights, he glanced to Honey, whose deteriorating smile had finally faltered outright. Hence the tightening knot in Hiro's stomach.

"_Wellll_," Fred started slowly, rolling the syllable on his tongue, "on the bright side, Wasabi and Soup are both alive."

_So there's a bad side_.

What the hell had happened?

Hiro's head hurt. His brain clouded over with the sharp stench of smoke, skin stewing in the sweat wrought by that persistent crackling, and it was so _hot_, so damn **hot** and—

—_ow!_

It hurt! Hurt so bad, his foggy mind was ravaged by rusted spikes churning through his skull, a swarm of locusts wreaking havoc and screeching for respite, so much pain, pure agony and _'Dashi where are you? Help me!_

...

Tadashi.

Why him?

...

Hiro blinked. Once, twice, then looked up. Fred was still talking.

"But on the other hand, well actually, there's more good, since it wasn't for nothing, y'know—"

It was torture, anticipating the truth that rested just a hair-width out of reach. Before Hiro's wavering self-control could snap, sweet, merciful Honey intervened, gently cutting off the rambling.

"Hiro, they're both as good as can be. Wasabi isn't here right now, because ... " She glanced down a little, idly smoothing out her dress. "Well, the thing is, when Tadashi heard you were in that building, he—he didn't hesitate."

_Strong arms coil around him, grip firm as steel as dark hair spills in his wavering vision_.

_Does he know them? He MUST know them, they're saying his name, promising it'll be alright, but Tadashi's still in there_—

It was a curious feeling, to just know oneself was incapable of performing certain tasks. Right then and there, Hiro knew he couldn't speak if he tried, or perhaps even attempted to move, but his confusion must have been clear as day on his face.

"He ran in there and totally saved your pre-barbequed behind," Fred picked up, recapturing his ability to be blunt. "Didn't see it myself, but I heard he got you out just before the building exploded."

_"'Dashi!" a voice cries, and his world is claimed by fire_.

His facial muscles strained under the contortion of his frown. Stoic and silent, Hiro shuffled through the fuzzy memories crammed in an unknown corner of his brain.

It struck him like a train wreck.

_Terror plagued the onslaught of smoke, chaos wrecking free in its wake_.

_And pain_—_so much pain; a spike through his skull, something scrambling his brain, and why was it so **hot?**_

_Wasn't it just another bot-fight? Sore losers were one thing, blowing up the alley was another_.

_But arms were coiled around him as that bomb exploded; he was airborne, his limbs useless, consciousness wavering_._ When had he gotten hurt?_

_Then a rough jolt_._ More screams_._ A protective embrace, and a voice in his ear_.

_"I've got you, Hiro_._ You're safe now_._"_

A heavy pressure around his hand drew him back to reality; the two blondes were watching him warily, eyes flickering between him and Gogo. Her entire body was stiff with tension, lithe muscles visibly clenched beneath her skin and blunt fingernails digging into Hiro's palm, as though she was all that anchored him to the Earth.

"Yeah. That—that's what happened." Her voice was tired, like using it sapped the remainder of her strength.

At this rate, Hiro's frown would be a permanent etching on his face. Had she slept at all? He'd seen Gogo pull many a one-nighter to easily pick out the signs: her slumped shoulders carrying the exhaustion of the day, the grey tint below brown eyes, and the clench of her jaw as her teeth shredded her current wad of gum.

Oh yes. The past who-knows-how-many hours had been brutal.

"What about Tadashi, is he okay?" He stole a glance at the other two; Honey was disheveled, and Fred looked uncharacteristically high-strung. "Hell, are _you guys_ okay?"

"Ah, surviving a few all-nighters is a crucial if you wanna be in college. Believe us, this was nothing. It was the waiting that—" Fred snapped his jaw shut as Honey gripped his shoulder, shaking her head frantically, expression tinged with worry. "I-It was a bumpy ride," he then hastily diverted. "But what's important is that you're alright."

Right. He was on the mend. Determination and an exhilarated healing ability; it was in the blood. And stubbornness—as though there'd been any chance Hiro would have let himself go out without something to his name.

(Blazing glory and "he was so young, it's such a shame," not withstanding.)

He couldn't speak for the Hamada gene, though.

"Tadashi?"

It was a droplet of bliss radiating through his belly at the way Honey perked. "Asleep, but on the mend," she said certainly. "Should wake up any minute now."

"A-and Wasabi?" he dared himself to ask. His heart unclenched a notch as Honey's smile overwrote her concern.

"He's here. We didn't want Tadashi to wake up alone, and his aunt needs support right now. Fred and I thought you might like some company for a while, and besides, we were all so worried."

Nope. The tightening in his chest returned. "Sorry. I-I don't make a habit of getting stuck in the firing grounds. Although I _did_ almost get out. I mean, I think I did." He closed his eyes. Of all times for his excellent memory to fail him, it had to be now. "God, everything's so blurry."

"You got hit on the head pretty bad." For all appearances, Gogo was entranced by her brother's hand. "But if you hadn't been close enough for Tadashi to grab you and run, then—"_ We'd have lost both of you_. "Let's just make the best of a bad situation."

It was too easy to follow her veiled plea. Sedatives in his system or not, Hiro _was _**exhausted**. Once Fred geared up for a distraction via a lecture on clichéd origin stories and a vicious debate with Honey on how "maybe this is our calling; to rise from the ashes of the fire that took our mentor, and bring justice to our rotten world," Hiro realized he was fighting a losing battle.

Hiro smiled and nodded in—what he groggily assumed to be—the right places of the speech, but was otherwise left out of the less than civil discussion. Through the background noise, he let his mind wander.

_Fire_. _Microbots_. _Professor Callaghan_._ Tadashi_.

Where to begin on all of it?

He felt a detached sense of mourning for the project he'd spend a month developing. Inappropriate as it might have been in light of a genius man's death, Hiro couldn't completely quench it.

Speaking of Professor Callaghan ... _ouch_. It was surreal to learn his quasi-idol was stone-cold (or red-hot) dead. But should he be more upset? It sucked—_more than sucked_, but looking up to someone was one thing, whilst knowing them personally was a whole new realm of ouch-i-ness.

Hiro glanced at Gogo. Brow tense, jaw locked, and eyes dulled.

Holding his sister's hand. When was the last time she'd permitted that? From the aura surrounding her—the one that had random students diverting their eyes, kids temporarily losing their voices, and lab partners walking on glass around her—the world largely viewed Gogo as untouchable. Yet here she was, holding his hand in hers to tenderly run her thumb over his knuckles.

Curious, indeed.

-0-

It was all over too quickly. Looking back, the hour drizzled past in a haze of post-unconsciousness and irrational drowsiness. (Seriously, he'd been sleeping for, what, a whole day? Two? He should be pumped up by now, bouncing off the walls and all that.)

One minute, Honey and Fred were discussing the benefits of comic book clichés, then were being ushered out in the next by a stern-looking nurse declaring the end of visiting hours for non-family members.

Not that Gogo seemed inclined to budge anytime soon.

With the visiting party dwindled, the two fell into a semi-comfortable silence. Five minutes in, and Hiro mourned the absence of mindless chatter botching any periods of thinking time.

_No_, he scolded himself. _Think about this later_. _When you can keep your eyes open, go visit Tadashi, and_ ..._ y'know, repay the debt somehow_.

Hiro leaned back into his pillow, trying to locate the comfiest angle to settle in, whilst Gogo lolled a tasteless wad of gum over her tongue, content to mutely observed her squirming brother until he finally collapsed with a satisfied sigh.

"Guess I owe Tadashi a life debt now," he mused, eyes trailing over the water stains littered across the ceiling. "Should I pull him out the path of a speeding car, or become his slave for life?"

"I'll get the car. Just don't let me break his legs."

"Or yours."

She then proceeded to _flick_ him. "Really, now?"

-0-

Consciousness returned to him in irregular waves.

One second was full of _beeps_ and _squeaks_ and ineligible mumbling; all blended into distorted gibberish, like he listened to them underwater. Then the next coherent moment was blissfully silent and painless, a void where time and emotions meant nothing.

Wasabi's voice was the first he recognized; a benevolent, precise tone an octave higher than expected from the larger man.

"—was so mad at you—"

"Please—"

"—_ant_ to be angry, but I-I can't—"

"—don't sleep too long."

Confusion breached the delicate balance between his state of consciousness. Why did Wasabi sound sad? What had happened to distress him?

Tadashi would have frowned if his lax muscles allowed it, but his mind worked rapidly, regardless.

_Heat_._ Screams_._ Ash_._ Choking_.

A heart monitor beeped as that voice choked, "Tadashi?"

_A three year old smiles_._ "'Dashi,__" he chirps proudly_.

Hesitant pressure around his wrist—tentative, hoping—but it's a weak excuse for the shackles that once held back his ten-year old body. Not that it mattered. He could shake them off now.

His arms lay limp. They're useless, but he didn't need them. He only needed his legs. He's fast, faster than he knew.

_And there are no hands on him this time, no shackles holding him back_. _But he's stronger now, it wouldn't matter_. _He's not that frightened child anymore, and no one can touch him as he runs_.

_He throws open the crumbling doors and his world is in flames_.

"H-Hiro ..."

A sharp inhale. "Hiro?"

_Because he's in there_. _Hurt, trapped, but alive_. _He HAS to be_.

_There are no hands on him this time_._ With speed he hadn't known to possess, Tadashi runs_._ He's stronger now; no one can hold him back as he charges through the flames_.

_"Hiro!"_

_There, on the ground, a tiny bundle of charred clothes and a fluffy nest of black hair_.**_ Hiro_.**

_Safe in his arms_._ Secure_._ He runs, doesn't trip, and tastes fresh air with a brother in his hold_.

_An onslaught of heat_—_the explosion_—_throws him off his feet_._ Instinct has him curl around the unconscious boy in his arms, a protective shield from the unforgiving concrete that grates the skin of his arms and knees through his clothes, but Hiro _...

_He's safe_._ Safe in his arms_._ Unconscious, hurt, but SAFE_.

_"I've got you, Hiro_._ You're safe now_._"_

"Hiro?" a voice croaked. He recognized it as his own, butchered it may have been.

The pressure moved from his wrist and the hand gently enveloped his own.

"The little man's safe, Tadashi. Alive, and awake." A choked sob. "You saved him."

Saved him. Hiro.

Hiro's _alive_. Safe, breathing, out of harm's way.

And the world fades out.

-0-

It was incessant.

"Never. And I mean _never_, in all my years, have I encountered such odds. Is this the price to pay? Did you two sell your souls to the netherworlds? Is that what's happening?!"

A full hour into the family visit, and Jilynn was overflowing it with emotional babbling. Through tears, hugs, and half-hearted scoldings, there was only so many times they could exhaust variations of "it's okay," and "_we're_ okay," until the list ran dry and their mother's uninterrupted rant proved their own words were falling on deaf ears.

A fresh pack of gum and six games of tic-tac-toe later, a deep inhale snagged Hiro and Gogo's attention away from a potential seventh.

"How could this happen?" Jilynn was sobbing. "A son of mine? What did we do _wrong_—" She choked on her own voice, words failing her.

It was the opening for Hiro to interject, "You didn't _do_ anything." His voice was clear in the lapse of her own. "And for the record, neither did we." He indicated to Gogo. "It was just ... really, and I mean _really_ bad luck."

And then came the hug.

Without hesitation, arms wrapped tight around the invalid as though it slowly cleansed the stress away from the hysterical mother. Her breathing evened out, her tears dried up, and when she whispered, "My little boy," her voice had lowered in pitch.

"Let him breathe," a deep voice cut in. "He inhaled a lot of smoke, smothering him won't be doing any good."

Hiro'd never been quite so relieved for his father's intervention.

Hiroto crossed the room, in full doctor-mode as always. If the family drama were causing him turmoil, he kept it expertly tucked away behind his professional façade. "Your vitals have remained steady since you woke up, but it's that bump on the head that worries me," he spoke as he reached his son's bedside. "You came here with a concussion, Hiro."

That much Hiro had figured out for himself. Through memories of heat, smoke, and _you're safe now_, he distinctly recalled the railroad spikes jammed into his skull and a cake mixer whisking his brains into scrambled egg.

Hiro never thought he'd be grateful to pass out.

"But I'm here to test your reflexes and memory, to determine any long-lasting damage." The older man plucked a pen from his top pocket, clicking it and holding the clipboard stationary. "How are you feeling?"

"Um, a little tired." _Or spaced out from sedatives_. "I think."

"That's to be considered." Hiroto didn't look up from the scratching of the pen. "I'll need to look into your eyes for a moment before I perform a few tests."

Then came the mandatory routine Hiro had seen completed a dozen times. With a light flashed in one eye, following the index finger, a tap to the knee, and squeezing the doctor's fingers as hard as he could, Hiro obediently went through the motions, the silence occupied with the idle scratching of pen on paper.

"A tad on the weak side, but I'd expected as much," came the summary. "But fortunately, you're on the path to a full recovery. Now, to test your mind." He tucked his pen back in his pocket. "Could you tell me your name?"

"Hiro Tanaka."

Various more questions followed, straight-to-the-point and mind-numbingly easy: "What year is this?" "Tell me your home address." "What colour is the sky?" "Two plus two equals what?" until he reached, "Who is this?" and indicated to Jilynn.

"Jilynn Tanaka. My mom, your wife."

"Very good." His target switched to Gogo. "And this young lady, right here?"

He was tempted to blurt out _Gogo Tomago_ and open up a can of beans to discuss, but holding back a smile, Hiro answered with: "Leiko Tanaka. My sister."

"Tell me what you remember of what happened to bring you here."

All of a sudden, his throat felt like sandpaper, each breathing burning like the crackling flames he drew smoke into his system. "The fire. At the university." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "And, uh, the showcase. It happened there."

"From one to ten, how high is your pain?"

_Definitely more charming when Baymax says it_. "Right now, I guess about three."

-0-

She regretted spitting out her gum. Perfect shot in the trashcan it had been, her mouth now felt uncomfortably empty. Gogo ran her tongue over her teeth, idly chewing on the insides of her cheeks as the stale taste of leftover mint plagued her taste buds.

Great, like this delightful family gathering couldn't get anymore uncomfortable. Usually she _liked_ pushing boundaries, but this? Oh no, this really took the cake.

She tuned out the doctor-to-patient chatter. Discussion over concussions, and treatments, and how Hiro had to make certain not to strain himself for a few weeks.

An hour. By then, Gogo bet he'd be _begging_ for salvation from his boredom. Two hours, and he'd be picking apart his heart monitor to make a battle bot for the purposes of terrorizing innocent bystanders.

And yeah, she'd laugh.

Lazily, Gogo rolled her eyes back towards the bed, where—mercifully—her father appeared to be wrapping things up. She leaned away from the wall, ready to return to her spot by Hiro's bedside as she mentally predicted the motions of stoic professionalism Hiroto went through.

But then came one thing she hadn't witnessed in forever. Subtle, nearly imperceptible, Hiroto placed a hand on Hiro's shoulder and squeezed firmly. It lasted barely a second; it would be generous to call the act just that, but for a fleeting period it was clear as day.

Then his posture recovered, mask firmly back in place, as Hiroto turned to his wife. "We'll need to fill out the paperwork."

Jilynn perked out of her depressive bubble, standing unnaturally straight. "Okay, okay," she said. "Yes, we'll sort out that, first."

From the bed, Hiro hastily piped in, "When I can I leave?"

"With any luck, by tomorrow," their father relayed, answer prepared like always. "I'll give you a check up tonight, and to be on the safe side, I'd like to keep you in overnight for observation. One steady night throughout, and you'll be home in the morning."

Jilynn released a shaky breath. "Thank heavens," she sighed, which sent Hiro's face crumpling in (mock?) offense.

"Jee, thanks for the vote of confidence," he drawled. "Look at me, I'm not on death's door."

"Not yet, Hiro, but—oh god, why, _why?_"

Behind her, the older man sighed. "Jilynn—"

"What would you call a parent who's lost a child?"

A slam dunk squarely on the big red button visibly tabled DO NOT TOUCH, and Gogo's eyebrow twitched viciously, as if to permanently rip free of her face.

Hiroto must have been thinking along the same lines. Though his body language gave away nothing to his intent, he didn't linger behind to grant his wife an answer within hearing distance of their children, ushering her out of the room.

Within that second, the click of the door closed behind them, simultaneously popping the cap off of Gogo's simmering outburst.

"I swear, that woman never wanted kids," she snarled, brown eyes slits and knuckles bleached white. "After her perfect little daughter wound up a disappointment, she decided the dirty diapers and sleepless nights weren't worth the risk of kid number two."

Maybe it wasn't fair. No, wait—it flat-out _wasn't_ fair, and a few too many hours cooped up in a room she loathed, family drama ringing through the ears and blood split across her college campus, it was the bitter cocktail Gogo simply couldn't stomach anymore.

"Oh, thanks," she heard Hiro droll. As she turned around, he met her stare with an unimpressed, deadpan look. "What does that make me?"

Under her breath, Gogo grunted. "A happy accident."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"One of us should."

And that, if nothing else, peeled back any attempt at light-heartedness.

"She's in shock." A fact, plain and simple. Or so Hiro might have said. The little brat was building a defense, and Gogo did _not_ want to hear it. "So are you, and I probably am, too. Everyone is, and you know how crazy people get when they're like that."

"It's been the same thing on permanent repeat," she spat. Then in a falsetto so jarringly _wrong_ in her voice, she chirped, "'Hiro, my darling boy, why did this have to happen to you? Oh, how could the world go on knowing you're gone—'"

Buttons aside, there came the jump breaching the line of _do not cross_, as Hiro griped, "I don't wanna hear it!"

And no, she wasn't pleased. But she shut up, nonetheless.

Which Hiro took as an opportunity to pick up where he left off: "Mom loves you—" (A dismissive snort on Gogo's end.) "—_but_ you're not making it easy. So you have issues, who cares? All the more reason to work things out, right?"

He hadn't expected it to work, not really. A small, insistent part of him continued to hope despite the permanent rebuttal, and as Gogo shot him an irritated look, Hiro sighed.

"Fine, your call."

Then returned the silence.

Hiro sighed wearily, feeling the weight of a day filled with tests, breathing exercises, and fleeting visits. He snuggled back into his pillow, drawing maximum comfort from the padding. Then he yawned, and—

"Sleep," Gogo snapped, then in a lighter tone, she added, "if you need it. I'll be here when you wake up."

Big words from the girl with less patience for small rooms and minimal mobility than tolerance for blatant idiocy.

"What if it's midnight? You even allowed to stay here overnight?" _She'll go stir-crazy within the hour_.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"

"What, me? Nope."

Nonetheless, sleep sounded good. Hiro rolled his shoulders, groaning contentedly at the much needed relief, and slunk back fully on the bed. The thin blanket was tugged up to his chest, and the blind were closed, dimming the room comfortably.

Even with the dull aches of healing bruises and the irritating beeps and whirrs, it was a peaceful atmosphere.

"We'll be okay, right Lei?"

She wouldn't deny him that. "Always."

-0-

_He is small in this dream, so fragile and afraid_. _That emotion is foreign_—_when has he ever had reason to feel fear?_

_She kneels before him, blue eyes infused with something akin to loss_. "_You'll be safe here, Hiro,_"_ she says, but her voice burns with confliction_. "_And I promise, we'll find you again_. _Here's hoping you make the right choice when that happens_."

_Terror plays a sweet melody on his quivering heartstrings, and too-small hands cling to the silk folds of her kimono_. "_No,_" _he says, and it's all he can manage_. "_No, no, no!_"

"_Don't worry, sweet pea,_" _she speaks so calmly, expertly unhooking tiny fingers from her attire_. "_You won't shed tears for me_. _You'll remember nothing at all_."

_Her smile is the last thing he sees before his world goes black_.

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** So who could tell that I hate writing hospital scenes? Blah. XD (So yeah, next chapter is all about Tadashi. Well, eighty percent, give or take.)


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note:** Guess who turned twenty-one? Happy birthday, me!

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_"Ta-da-shi_._"_

_A gleeful little smile_.

_"'Dashi, 'Dashi!"_

...

...

"Hiro."

Then the world blanked out.

-0-

As Byron Miller stepped onto the scene of the accident, he wondered if he'd ever get used to the sight of tragedy and the wails of broken loved ones.

Like always, he preferred not to find an answer. Business as usual, he stepped gingerly over the mutilated remains of whatever the misshapen lump of plastic and metal had once been. Something brilliant, no doubt. To even apply for the ranks of San Fransokyo's finest required a great mind on it's own.

Such a waste. Still, no use crying over spilt milk. Tears were better left for the mourning. Step who-knew-what of the healing process.

Professor Robert Callaghan, the sole fatality. An inspiring man who single-handedly revolutionized robotics, now dead as a doornail.

It was a miracle, truthfully, that the fire hadn't claimed more than one life. Even the common stove fire could claim a life if dealt by the wrong hands.

Byron sighed, pushing the needlessly depressing thoughts from his mind. He had heavy enough work to do already, without having to dwell on the history behind the charred bones he'd been instructed to locate.

As far as he looked, it was all black. Shapes were intangible in the charcoal mess, an intertwining story laid out with every step he took.

So much conflicting science; loose wires, vials of chemicals, all pawns in the expansive domino effect criss-crossing between naïve individuals.

"_Just an accident waiting to happen_," was the broken record of the day.

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy hand. Once, those words had made him feel nauseous. Now, it baffled him how the same mistakes could be made on a permanent repeat, with varying results.

"_Over here!_"

It triggered an immediate reaction from him. Magnetized towards the direction of his colleague's voice, Byron back-tracked across the crumbling remains, through a half-intact doorway, over the smoldering lump that was once enviable tech, down the charcoal steps, to the hand of his colleague waving frantically, a mute request for help in what appeared to be shifting a metal beam.

A hint as to the direct cause of the fire, perhaps. Or those charred bones. Something salvageable, at any rate.

Their combined strength easily picked apart the debris, one chunk at a time, until his trembling hands fell to his sides. Eyes wide, Byron stared down at the newly uncovered patch of ground.

No ...

His eyes widened. "Sweet mother of—" Instinctively, his hands grasped for his radio.

It couldn't be ...

_Could it?_

-0-

Hiro tugged his sleeves over his hands, before tucking them into his armpits. It was the appeal of oversized hoodies—the wearable hug feel. If only he could disappear inside it, his life would be complete.

An eternity of comfort and no personal space. Since the first step outside the hospital, his life appeared to be taking that turn.

Speaking of which, he scarcely remembered coming home. The final hours in the hospital passed in a blur of _decisions_ and _prescribed treatments_ before he was discharged and led from the building by his uncharacteristically somber parents.

Hiro had hesitated in the lobby, babbling an excuse about wanting a soda in order to wander back down the hall. Why did thinking time need to be so hard without sufficient brain food?

Read: sugar. Lots of sugar. _Now_.

Forehead resting on the glass of the vending machine, Hiro sighed. He was irritated over his jumbled thoughts, mad that it irked him so much, and on the brink of crying over the headache it was giving him.

Bottom line, he wanted to see Tadashi. Frankly, he _needed_ it. And that added discomfort to the mixture.

He didn't even know Tadashi, not like he knew, say, Wasabi. The fewer times Hiro had lingered in the halls of SFIT, catching a glimpse of Tadashi was rare; the guy was dedicated to miniscule fixations Baymax needed, borderline obsessed with coding, battery life, and basic functions.

Without the looming date of the Student Expo creeping closer, Hiro had thought it might've been a neat opportunity to meet Tadashi up close and personal. Maybe shower him with leftover ideas spilling from Hiro's own mind.

And yes, maybe—just maybe, if he'd taken that chance, then Hiro may have been confident enough to march straight into Tadashi's room and ... say whatever had to be said.

Unfortunately, that was not an option. And _that_ made Hiro seethe.

He was a coward. An idiot. A spineless hypocrite.

Tadashi Hamada: the guy who had charged into a fire, disregarding his own safety in order to preserve Hiro's. In return, Hiro couldn't muster the gratitude to woman up and exchange a few words before leaving.

Yet once again, that brought the roadblock of figuring out _what_ to say to the man whom he basically owed a life debt to.

_I'm a college student now_. _Technically_. _I was one for five minutes, then THAT happened_.

This was exactly the kind of heavy thinking he'd been advised against.

_I knew it was a bad idea_. _College is hard_ ...

Also, damn that infernal concussion.

If he couldn't get his rear in gear and speak up, maybe he could leave Tadashi a note? Have Fred, Wasabi, or Honey deliver it? Impersonal, but a guarantee. A quick reassurance, with the promise to save the heavy talk for when they were both given a clean bill of health.

_Decisions, decisions_.

Hiro groaned, jabbing a random button on the vending machine. He didn't even want the soda. Days of bland food had made his taste buds incompetent; what did real food taste like, again?

"It won't make you a bad person to think about yourself."

As the soda _clanked_ free, Hiro lifted his head. Surprise, surprise. Gogo was watching him from two feet away, hitting the nail on the head, as always.

"Last I heard, Tadashi refused visitors, anyway."

"Oh," he murmured, retrieving his unwanted sugar fix. "Gee, his savior complex starting to embarrass him?"

Even for her, Gogo's face was a little too deadpan. _Crap_. "No, it's ... personal reasons. Not my place to say."

_Oh yeah, definite line right there_. Hiro scribbled a mental note not to mention fire within Tadashi's hearing distance.

"So, I guess that means I'll just corner him when he's walking again. Right?"

Her expression mixed exasperation with a reluctant smile. "Let's just go home, Hiro."

After that, it was a case of going through the motions.

-0-

Once within the vicinity of their neighborhood, an unwelcome onslaught of cuddles and kisses were lavished upon the youngest Tanaka. It took a solid hour of endurance before Gogo managed to usher "the invalid" away from concerned well-wishers neither sibling had bothered to learn the name of.

Hiro never thought the promise of sleeping in his own bed could be so appealing. Buried under his duvet, he smothered his face in his pillow and inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh laundry scent he'd always taken for granted.

Home, sweet home.

"They expect you to sleep."

He twisted awkwardly, the maneuver peeling back the blanket to grant him a sufficient peephole. Gogo stood observantly in the doorway, arms folded and shoulder propped against the frame.

"Food for thought?"

"I've done my part. Those dark circles speak for themselves."

Hiro groaned. Good to be home, indeed. "Now I feel _really_ special," he lamented, sitting upright. "What about my new healthy glow?"

"Delirious, too?"

"Oh ha, _ha_."

But on an unrelated subject, sleeping _did_ sound appealing. Sort of. Hardly unexpected when lying on his bed for the first time in days. Maybe he should close his eyes for an hour, just a quick cat-nap to recharge himself.

"Or we can talk."

Hiro quirked an eyebrow. Talk? "About wha—_oh_." Recollection hit him like a punch in the face; mismatched puzzle pieces of the fire, the hospital, and Tadashi.

Suddenly, sleeping didn't sound very easy to achieve.

"I thought I might ... y'know. " He glanced down at his twiddling thumbs. "Hang back and say _hi, thanks for the whole saving me thing_. Turns out I don't know the way to his room."

As casually as he could, Hiro chuckled, but his forced humor was dashed as Gogo frowned.

"Forget about Tadashi," she said. "Think about yourself for now. _Then_ deal with him."

"I have to talk to him. That's just it, I _have_ to. You don't blow off the guy who saved you from becoming extra crispy barbeque."

"He wouldn't see you, anyway. His aunt said he wanted family-only visits. Couldn't handle the non-thinking time, or whatever. She thought he was being rash, and that having friends around would help him." With one arm, she shrugged. "Fred insisted on sticking by him. Wasabi's up there, too."

That time, Hiro meant his smile. "Meaning I have two ladies breathing down my neck?"

"Do you know what makes the world go round, Hiro? Co-operation."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, I get ya."

Without further protest, Hiro co-operated as Gogo stepped forward to peel back the duvet. He shimmied beneath it even as she gave him a pointed look. She never _told_ him he had to change clothes. Besides, it was an argument she clearly wanted no part in.

"I thought about writing him a letter."

She looked at him with the most surprise he'd seen written on her face. "You know, emails are still a thing."

"But it's so impersonal. I believe in the lost art of letter writing. Calligraphy, a spritz of perfume, let's him know I'm thinking of him at night."

"Smooth."

_Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence_. "Do I have any other options?"

Cue the hand on Hiro's chest, pushing him back to lie down. "Rest up," Gogo said firmly. "Tadashi probably lost his eyebrows by dragging your ass out of that building. If you're a mess by the time he sees you again, that'll make him feel bad."

"Oh, ow. _Ow_, Lei. You were so nice before; what happened? D'you need to let your bitchiness out before it poisons you?"

"It's how I plan to live forever."

"So far so good. Me, on the other hand—"

"Don't push it."

_Oh yeah_. _Good to be home_. "Love you, too," Hiro deadpanned with a smile.

-0-

"Talk to me, buddy."

That would be simple enough.

_Hi, Wasabi_. _My tongue feels like leather right now, so I'll keep my answers short, okay?_

He had a pitcher of water within arm's reach, condensation staining a ring in the wood, and his raw throat cried for it. Yet he kept staring ahead.

Two inaccurate, toffee-brown patches had melted through the ceiling, blemishes staining the whiteness of the remaining room. There were thirty-six of those tiles, twenty-nine of them appropriately sterile. One of the three light bulbs had flickered six times in the last minute. The sting of bleach still wasn't enough to dilute the memory of smoke.

Was it always so hot in there? Because of the bandages, or the blankets? Maybe he should open a window—

"If you want to talk about it, I'm right here."

—unless that'd make him too cold? Wasabi wore sweater, designed for warmth as much as style. He _must_ be cold. That'd just be bad manners to purposely be inconsiderate.

Downright rude. Despicable. What kind of friend did that?

Tadashi blinked.

Make that nine times Wasabi sighed since visiting hours opened.

-0-

He should have asked. Only so much could be blamed on a fuzzy memory from the concussion; this was just common courtesy.

With talk of Tadashi's blind-sighted heroics, Hiro's near death experience number three, and the craving just sleep in a real bed again, it had evaded him entirely to inquire if anyone had actually died in the fire.

On the bright side, it was officially lucky that more people hadn't been killed, or suffered anything worse than a few scrapes and first degree burns.

But on the other hand, the accident had claimed Robert Callaghan.

Suddenly, hindsight was a real bitch to deal with. The sluggish movements, dulled eyes, and careful choice of words—it went _way_ deeper than the emotional distress of nearly losing two friends in one go.

Two days discharged from the hospital, and Hiro was teetering at his breaking point.

Witnessing Gogo in mourning was pain akin to hacking himself in half with a plastic spoon. Her hands often trembled as they did in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush, but her brown eyes were haunted, shadowed by lingering fears of "_what if_."

They were inseparable during this time; Hiro trailed his sister like a lost ghost clinging to his lifeline to earth, while Gogo found a semblance of tranquillity only when her brother was in sight, if not in her arms. Oh, she was a lot more affectionate in the grief period, witnesses or not, and Hiro couldn't find reason to complain whenever two strong arms interrupted whatever task he was caught up in.

Their parents didn't mention the times they'd found their children sleeping in the same bed, a habit they'd discouraged since Gogo had been Hiro's age, claiming it to be inappropriate for a young man to share a bed with a maturing lady.

Hiro felt seven years old again, wandering blindly through life and lost on meaningful direction. So he did the only thing he could: he clung to the one he knew he could trust unconditionally.

It was midnight, give or take. Gogo was lying awake in bed when he nudged the door open, as though waiting for the intervention. She silently peeled back the blanket when Hiro approached, already shuffled over enough to grant him the required room to clamber in.

As her arm draped over his waist in a lazy semblance of a hug, Hiro closed his eyes with a shuddering exhale. _I'm alive_, he told himself. _She's alive_._ Tadashi's alive_._ Everyone else is_—

_Well, Professor Callaghan didn't make it_._ And that's terrible_._ But it could have been worse_._ So much worse_.

"Y'know, it's morbid, but it's also kinda funny." His voice came out too high-pitched in the punctured silence, and he felt, rather than heard Gogo sigh.

"_How_ is anything about this funny?" Her response was barely a whisper, nigh indistinguishable melded through the dark.

"I-it's just, you're always finding new ways to live life on the edge, but once the brakes aren't working _that's_ when you need them in gear."

A pause.

"Are you implying that I'd have gotten a rush if you weren't borderline barbeque?" Again, Gogo sighed. "In what day, time, and age was that considered a joke?"

"I'm still working on my original material, but I'm guessing that's a veto?"

"If I wasn't so sure that you'd roasted half your brain cells last week, I'd be so tempted to hit you."

"Ah, c'mon. You love me too much for that, remember?"

"Don't test my patience."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Inwardly, he marveled at her ability to pummel hard enough to stun without leaving bruises. "_Ow!_ Damn it—a simple _yeah, that's a promise_ would've been enough."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"And you'd know _all_ about that, wouldn't you?" he snorted. "Gee, whatever happened to the good ol' days of 'righteous justice'?"

Like leaves left out in the frost, Hiro felt Gogo freeze over, lithe muscles tensing in her slender arms. He grit his teeth, mentally cursing himself as far as his limited vocabulary allowed.

"I-I'm sorry. Ah jeez, that—that was in a bad taste, even for me."

"But joking about your own death is acceptable." He winced, unease negated only by her slight breathy chuckle. "I'm tired, Hiro," she groaned. "Go to sleep and I'll forgive you. Don't make me get the chloroform."

Oh, yes. Despite the searing pain in his arm, it was good to be home.

"Love you, too, sis."

-0-

It was routine. Day in and day out, the same loop on a permanent repeat.

Tadashi would wake up at seven-thirty sharp, roused by whichever nurse were on station, bustling in his room. Half an hour later, Aunt Cass would call in the midst of her morning rush at the café.

She promised the same thing every time: "Don't worry, I'll have Mei-Ling take over everything by lunch. I'll see you in a few hours, sweetie."

And he would manage a weak smile, murmuring, "You, too," in a voice gruff from disuse.

The mornings had begun to drip by much slower. An hour into the solitude, Tadashi would feel the ebbing of regret and idly begin reconsidering his friends' requests to stop by. But then he would remember their dejected faces from their previous visits, and he'd reach that same conclusion.

_It's better this way_.

At one o'clock, on the dot, Aunt Cass arrived. She'd smile warmly as she settled into the chair beside his bed, gently grasping his hand in her own and tenderly running her thumb over his knuckles.

"They say there was nothing you could have done, sweetie," was her daily reassurance. "Your professor was at the center of the explosion. If you'd gone in that far ... "

One day, she might've finished her sentence. But that day was not it.

She looked down at the pale hand in her own, careful to avoid the IV needle in her ministrations. After her failed attempt to downplay the subject, she would change it. Be it menial talk of the weather, sports, or Mrs. Matsuda's new sequin halter-top, to occasional quips over Mochi's daily exercise budding down to his reaction time to the oven churning out a fresh batch of pastries.

That day, Aunt Cass chose to be blunt. "Let's try to be happy, what d'ya say?" Her smile was hesitant, as though it might break her face. Him, too, likely.

Tadashi blinked.

_Happy?_

How, exactly, would he manage it when fresh blood congealed on his fingers, spilled by lingering cries of, "_if only_."

He could have done _something_; activated Baymax, maybe?

Too far away to hear, a logical voice commended. Too slow to have made it to the scene on time.

Tadashi's hands trembled.

No, no, that wasn't right! Baymax had to be **perfect** if he'd any hope of lending out help. Being too slow and too deaf to respond to cries of distress was a glaring design flaw, an appalling slip-up that stood right in front of his eyes.

Little wonder as to why blood stained his hands, no matter how hard he scrubbed them.

Tadashi Hamada was a failure; a useless, catastrophic waste of space.

His mentor would be ashamed.

His parents would be disappointed.

His little brother ...

_I'm not crying_. _Not today, I don't have the right_.

... would large, brown eyes look up at him in heartbreak and confusion, lips trembling as the child murmured, "Why, 'Dashi?"

Something inside of Tadashi quivered.

"I-I'm sorry, H-Hiro." _My little brother, my otōto, I couldn't protect you, I couldn't protect anyone, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! _"I c-can't—can't help people."

The tears began to fall unrestrained, salty moisture trailing down his cheeks to dampen his pillow and slip past trembling lips.

A choked sob, not his own that time. Tadashi strained himself to look, blinking back the never-ending waterworks to shift his aunt's form into a coherent shape. But he didn't need accurate vision to pick out the details of her grief.

Even then, the sound was enough.

"T-Tadashi," she hiccupped, tightening her hand around his. "Honey, it's okay. Breathe with me, alright? Come on, breathe steady."

It was difficult when he couldn't stop choking on ash.

His chest tightened and his throat clogged up, denying him oxygen. _Breathe! You do it all the time, why not now?_

Simple: he didn't want to.

Why bother? By letting himself live, he made things worse. All the time. He couldn't do it, not anymore. He should have died in that fire eleven years ago, with Hiro in his arms and his parents waiting for them in the afterlife, ahead of them by half a minute.

They would have been upset with him. Disappointed. Angry.

"_We trusted you to save your brother_."

But grudges didn't last eternity, not between loved ones.

Tadashi wondered if mortal wounds hurt in the afterlife.

They shouldn't. It was fairness that death should be bliss, after the trials and errors that caused so much agony by living. An equal trade-off.

Because scars shouldn't hurt so bad. Not when the stitches had kept torn flesh together for a decade and the wounds had long since healed over into skin so thick that the same weapon couldn't penetrate them again.

But that repulsive _something_ flowed through his veins like acid replaced his blood, and Tadashi would have gladly bled himself dry if it meant relief from age-old lacerations that had refused to heal.

Oh god, he couldn't breathe. H-he—he couldn't— "C-_can't!_"

God damn it, where did that infernal pain end!?

He choked on his own grief and sobbed words he pretended his aunt didn't hear;

"Why do I keep making things worse?"

-0-

He was going stir-crazy. Let it be said that silence was not Hiro's ally. As Gogo monitored the 3D printer as it crafted a new wheel for her bike, Hiro sat the wrong way on her chair, back arched on-level to observe the precision lasers do their work.

That was when he snapped.

"I want to see Tadashi."

More silence. Prolonged stillness. Gogo didn't halt even in chewing, eyes unwavering. Until the pause was punctured half a second later by an impeccably timed _beep_ from the printer.

"Not happening," she said bluntly, as she slid out the wheel. "You're under house arrest."

_I was afraid of that_, the rational part of him chirped.

_But wait, now you have an excuse_, pitched in his cowardly side.

Then his all-mighty voice cut in with, _Shut up_ and quenched any other factional personality.

"Any idea when he gets out?"

With one arm, Gogo shrugged. "Soon? But I wouldn't bank on him feeling charitable."

"So ... we let him stew in depression? You're his best friend, Lei—march on in there and tell him to woman up."

She snatched a plastic cup perched delicately atop the cooler. "How insensitive."

_Whoa, whoa! _Hiro frowned. _What crawled up her ass and died?_

"Is there something you aren't telling me?" he demanded, frowning. "C'mon, address the elephant in the room! I'm sick of being in the dark and dancing around the obvious."

"Later. It's not my place. Now shut up," she thrust the cup into his hands, "and take your Tylenol."

As she spun on her heel, Hiro glared at Gogo's retreating back as she slipped a cup beneath the water dispenser and tugged the lever.

"Drugs, Lei?" he grumbled, relishing the slow crumple of cheap plastic as his grip tightened. "There are other ways to keep me quiet."

"But this keeps you quiet _and_ healthy."

"What kind of a life is that? You're killing my essence, Lei. How are quiet, healthy people meant to annoy you? Is this a self-loathing bit?"

"I work best in peace."

"Which explains why you never stay overtime on campus, but what for? The school isn't opening back up for a few weeks, at least."

"You sabotaged the last prototype. I need the head-start."

Low blow. Well, not really. But dragging it up after a month of tight lips about it?

"I said I was _sorry_. Really, I am. But you kept the blueprints, right? Should be a piece o' cake."

"Medication, Hiro."

Though he undoubtedly muttered something that'd make her blush, Hiro chugged down his prescription. "Done. Now, back to compromising." He crumpled his paper cup and tossed it in the general direction of the trash. "They're digging through the wreck and your bike won't take long. We've got a solid week—let's _do_ something with it. It doesn't have to be bot-fighting. I'll let you pick this time."

"How about sitting down and shutting up?"

"Can we at least do it outside? I've been breathing in the same, moldy air day in and day out. It's been a year and I'm sick of it."

"You _could_ have applied sooner. Then we wouldn't have this problem."

"You're living in the past."

And damn it, Hiro was done to death with the past. The future was still bright, if dimmed by recent events. Ironically. Har-de-har.

But one look at Gogo, and guilt coiled in Hiro's chest.

_Her professor is dead, her college was maimed, her best friend and brother nearly went the same way, and I want her to get over it, five minutes later?_

Pummeling his own face never seemed so appealing. Unfortunately, a second concussion wasn't high on his list of priorities, so Hiro busied himself with pouring over Gogo's blueprints.

"You're putting an engine on this thing?" he yelped, eyes twice their size. "Legs giving out on you, Lei?"

Because really, and he meant _really_, there was no other possible explanation for her spontaneous addition to her once-perfect project.

"Practicality," Gogo responded off-handedly. "_I_ can handle the bike fine. But if you needed it—"

"—I get to pick one of ten speeds, yeah? Hey, if it's for my benefit, then I insist I help. Who better to cater to my needs than myself?"

Off the top of her mind, Gogo had a multitude of different answers on standby, each more patronizing than the last. However, with a nearly imperceptible roll of her eyes, she patted the space next to her in a silent invitation.

A peaceful hour drizzled by, both siblings wrapped up in their element as they functioned in perfect unison.

("Pass me the—"

"—wrench. On your—"

"—left, got it.")

Until finally, as Gogo clipped the wheel in place, Hiro muttered from his spot on the 3D printer: "You don't think it's bad that I haven't rebuilt the bots yet, do you?"

Boom.

There went serenity.

Sighing, Gogo turned away from the suspended bike to reply with, "And that's what's been bothering you."

Despite the lack of heat in her gaze, Hiro cowered before he could help himself.

Ugh. Guilt, disappointment, unresolved anger. None of it felt remotely healthy when battling it out in his gut.

Still, as a day of non-judgment, Hiro spoke his mind whether it liked it or not. "I keep thinking back to the fire," he began idly. Through nothing to do with the impending, one-sided awkwardness, he took a profound interest in the crumpled blueprints. "I could've—I _should_ have looked for Professor Callaghan."

A heavy _clang_ vibrated through the room; Hiro jumped violently at the sound, eyes zeroing on the wrench that had slipped from Gogo's hands.

"Survivor guilt?"

His throat seemed to close up. "W-well ... " _Crap_.

"Hiro." She was in front of him in a split second; hands clamped to his shoulders, Gogo knelt down to meet him at eye-level. "Nothing about that day was your fault."

How many times had he tried to drill that into his head? Logically, it was correct. But a conflicting voice trilled _never tried, never tried!_ at the back of his head.

"Yeah, but—how close could he have been, really?"

Hiro played the scene in his mind a million times before, splaying out the evidence: he'd been standing near his microbot exhibit, roughly on the other side of the hall. He'd used those bots to escape the hall, no doubt passing directly over Professor Callaghan's vicinity, yet he hadn't even considered the possibility that somebody might need help.

"I keep thinking that I could've tried. I have a list of ways I could've helped—"

"It isn't that simple," Gogo snapped, her grip tightening. "You can look back and think of a million ways you _might_ have helped. But when you're there, in the moment, you don't have a choice."

Her words physically drained him. Hiro slumped forward, muscles slackened, his forehead resting against Gogo's shoulder.

"You didn't know he was in there. You were _hurt_ when Tadashi found you. If you tried to play hero, you'd have gotten yourself killed. There was _nothing_ you could have done. Accept that."

Easier said than done.

For a minute (or was it two?), Hiro let his staring contest with the freckle on her shoulder drag out, until strained tears ebbed in his eyes and he just _couldn't_ anymore.

"Do you need to bitch some more before I can have a hug?"

He hadn't finished his question before her arms circled him.

-0-

Cass knew what she expected when she opened that door: the same scene that had greeted her for nearly a week. Nothing could budge Tadashi out of his newly rooted slump, nor get him to acknowledge that the world existed beyond the crevices of his own mind.

She wasn't anticipating to find her nephew sat by the window, fully dressed and bed made behind him.

Before she could help herself, Cass blurted, "Tadashi!" but couldn't regret it as her nephew turned to look at her for the first time in too long.

"Hey, Aunt Cass."

Her heart melted at his smile. "Wow—you're up?"

"It's time," Tadashi said, his tone final. No room for questions or compromise.

Cass felt that horridly familiar ache pulse in her chest.

Her boy was eleven years old again, beaming up at her with a smile so plastic it lost all meaning. It was the first anniversary of that dreadful night, but he insisted he was _fine_. His parents wouldn't have wanted him to mope, his little brother would be appalled ("He'd beat me with his sippy cup," she recalled his exact words as being.) and he couldn't miss them anymore.

It was time.

But dear God, he hadn't been ready.

"I can't wallow in this room anymore." His voice snapped her back to the present. "I'll go crazy. I need to get home, back to college and—"

"Weren't you listening yesterday?" she cut in. Desperation. Unashamedly so. "The school won't be opening until they've analyzed the wreckage. We'll be looking at a few weeks, at least."

It hurt how Tadashi's façade visibly shook.

"Oh." He looked away for a moment, recovering just as quickly. Plastic smile back in place. "I'll work at home, then. You won't mind me moving into the garage, will you?" a small chuckle. "I need to upgrade Baymax; make him fireproof, work on his mobility, oh, and his battery needs some serious looking into."

She'd barely managed to coax him through his budding self-destruction the last time.

She didn't know if she could do it again.

"Sweetie," Cass tried, through lack of anything else to say. She licked her lower lip slowly, mentally pleading herself to keep speaking, talk him through it, be the mother she never planned to be, but would because that was her boy in pain and he needed her like she needed him ...

"Tadashi, you're worrying me," she went on, slowly. "Baymax will be there if you get out today, or next week. He's not going anywhere, but you won't be helping anyone unless you're in top shape."

"I can't stay in this building, Aunt Cass. _Please_. I ... I want to go home."

There they were. Words of a child old enough to comprehend the pain, but too young to handle it.

Tadashi's eyes—his mother's eyes—pierced her. They should have been beautiful, vibrant. But instead were weighed down by decade-old scars, wounds so deeply ingrained and aggravated that the infection had long since spread, festering in his very being with small hope for a cure.

She couldn't help him.

But she had to try. Always.

"Give me one more day," she pleaded. "Just _one_ day, you and me. Rest up and eat something, okay? I could whip something up at home, if you'd like? Anything you want, anything at all?"

A pause. Silence.

Emotion flickered in brown eyes. _Betrayal_. It cut her like a knife.

But then he smiled again. "I'd go stir-crazy if you left me alone. Why don't we talk? H-how—how have things been?"

Never in her thirty-something years of life did Cass think that striking up a conversation with Tadashi could be awkward. Or difficult.

Her open, compassionate nephew had traded his warm demeanor for more of a deer-in-the-headlights expression for nearly a full minute before she coughed weakly and plastered on a smile that felt as fake as Tadashi's looked.

"Mrs. Matsuda's been asking how you've been. Just this morning, she was wearing something super inappropriate for an eighty year old. That always cracks me up."

An hour of strained interaction that Tadashi was visibly _trying_ to appear interested in, but by then, Cass felt near tears.

As such, it was a blessing that an intervention came before they could bubble over. Perhaps a higher up power had finally cringed enough over the family reunion to grant a sliver of mercy.

As such, an eternally chipper Fred burst through the door with a loud, "Tadashiii!" that likely woke coma patients twenty wards away. His elation being as infectious as ever, within seconds of his presence, Cass found it was getting easier to manage a genuine smile.

(Then minutes in, she began to doubt the insincerity of Tadashi's.)

"Hey, my good man!" Fred practically sang with a large grin. "You decided to rejoin the living."

Holding her breath, Cass turned to her nephew. A rush of relief enveloped her as Tadashi openly indulged.

"I figured it was time," he said quietly. "Before I get bed sores. Or just become lazy."

Promptly, Fred leapt across the room and hugged Tadashi—who, by all accounts looked as though it was a normal occurrence. "You had me worried, bro," the mascot gushed melodramatically. "Was beginning to think I'd have to drag you out. With a crane."

Tadashi lightly shrugged the blonde off, a small grin in place. "That's unlike you. What happened to stealth?"

"Sometimes, a hero has to abandon tradition for the greater good."

A glint in brown eyes. "Is Batman firing a gun?"

"Oh, _no_. No, no—nobody needs to die today, bro." To which Fred's playful grin morphed into something gleefully manic. "_So_ not today. And rule number one: Fredzilla is _always_ there for a friend in need. Rain or shine, night or day, I am there for you. Even if it's three a.m. and all you want is some ice cream."

The idea of a midnight dinosaur crusader was as terrifying as it was affectionate. Cass couldn't help but snort into her palm.

Tadashi, however, shook his head. "Forget about me for a second." Concern spilled across his features. "How is everybody else?"

"Good. Weird, but good. We all miss ya. I tried to plan a surprise _welcome home_ shin-do for ya, but Honey said that was 'inconsiderate' of your needs and 'impractical' to your aunt."

At that, Fred gave her a quick, apologetic smile.

Interrupted as Tadashi cut across with, "Then what's the real reason you're here?" in a serious tone. He sighed at the exaggeratedly taken aback look on his friend's face. "Fred, I've known you for eight years, now. I know when you're hiding something."

_That_ snagged Cass' attention. She looked up, blinking in light of the suspicious expression marring her nephew's features. Then she turned to Fred, who looked a _lot_ like a certain three year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

It should have come as zero surprise that it took all of two seconds for Fred to crack.

A slow, elated grin illuminated his entire being. "Okay, okay—I'm not technically supposed to say this," he garbled, vaulting over the bed to stand face-to-face with Tadashi, "but man _alive_, is there a ... a man alive!"

Tadashi's frown deepened. "What's happening?"

"Didn't you hear? Nah, 'course you didn't hear, you've been bedridden—oh man, oh man! I'm late on my good deed for the day, so I'm thinking _why not help out those who do so much for us?_" He physically bounced on his heels. "I'm walking around two wards away, when I come across _the most unbelievable_—"

"Fred!" was the sound of Tadashi's tolerance fraying. "Would you mind getting to the point?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it, it's just—holy _mother_ of all things—you won't believe it—"

Tadashi tried not to groan, he really did. But if nothing else, the sound kicked Fred into gear.

"Callaghan," he blurted out. The stunned lack of response did nothing to deter him. "After they put the fire out, they went through the wreckage and—I know it's hard to believe, but he's alive." An overly excited grin. "Professor Callaghan is alive!"

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** And, boom! Finally done.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:** Don't remind me how long it's been. -_- Between full-time hours, night shifts, and a flurry of summer event planning—it was delays, nothing but _delays_. I haven't had a day off in three weeks. :( But I beat the odds and wrote this, so here it is! :)

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Vibrate wasn't quiet enough.

Gogo was roused from her much-coveted sleep by the glowing device buzzing across her nightstand. At five a.m. Being in college guaranteed getting bitch-slapped several times a week, but even the most sadistic of professors at SFIT had the decency to allow the students a regular sleep schedule.

(So long as said students played their cards right, that is.)

Emergency texting sessions weren't uncommon, especially in light of recent events, but to be this insistent?

Sigh.

With far too much effort, Gogo prized open her eyes. Surprise, surprise, it was still dark. Sans the light of her cell phone. She unwound her arm from Hiro's waist, maneuvering carefully despite the boy being too far gone for an earthquake to stir him.

Clumsily, she pawed for the device, holding it at a distance as she winced in the onslaught of light.

Honey Lemon, calling in an _S_._O_._S!_

Gogo's mind instantly flew to Tadashi, paranoia whipping up a storm to provide all kinds of potentially gruesome outcomes to whichever path his depression may have steered him down while she slept.

_Don't do this to me, Tadashi_.

Her hands clammed up as she punched out a reply with her thumb: **what happened?**

Honey's response popped up within seconds: **I'm outside.**

Normally, Gogo would spare two seconds to weigh the benefits of getting up versus rolling over back to sleep, but with Tadashi's image dominating her brain, her body hit auto-pilot as she gingerly peeled her sleeping brother from her side.

Like a feline, Hiro was curled up snugly against her, soft snores spilling from parted lips. Such a (dare she say it?) sweet sight, it felt such a shame to disturb him.

But once she was on her feet, Hiro merely smooshed his face into the vacated pillow and unconsciously cocooned himself in the duvet.

Unseen in the dark, Gogo cracked a smile. Which evaporated the moment he left her sight.

She pattered barefoot down the hall, silently creeping down the stairs before unhooking the latch of the front door. Opening it revealed Honey standing on the front porch, nursing a Styrofoam cup of coffee and bouncing anxiously on her heels. Her normally perfectly made-up features were in a state of dishevelment; she clearly hadn't brushed her hair recently and looked as though she'd nibbled her lip gloss clean off.

The moment the door opened, she perked up as though electrocuted, eyes zoning in on Gogo.

"You're awake! I've been calling all night—what have you been doing?"

The brunette wished she had the energy to snap back and berate Honey's tirade, but the empathy radiating from green irises sapped any desire to be cruel. Simultaneously, Gogo could almost read the story on Honey's mind, as though the words spilled through those wide, sympathetic eyes.

She drew a shaky breath.

Thorny tendrils of unease criss-crossed over her stomach, squeezing firmly enough to make her head spin with nausea. "Tadashi?" she dared herself to ask.

Green eyes blinked, visibly confused. "Tada—" the blonde murmured, before her eyes promptly widened and Honey roughly shook her head. "No, no! Tadashi is _fine!_ Th-this isn't about him."

Funny, how something could both soothe frazzled nerves and pour salt on aggravated wounds.

If Tadashi was fine (or as close as he could be) and nobody else was at an immediate risk of contemplating suicide, then what else could be serious enough that Honey felt too uncomfortable in putting it into text form?

"Then what?"

To which something changed in Honey's expression: those empathic eyes melted into a warmer emotion, her dry lips allowing a hint of a broken smile as she whispered, "It's Professor Callaghan," with certainty that stunned the shorter girl. "When they searched through the rubble they—they found him. He's alive, Gogo."

She'd experienced the oppressive waves of anesthesia before, the fruitless struggle of distinguishing the merge of reality and dreamscapes, the agonizingly slow pinpricks of self-awareness clipping back into place one-by-one, until the numbness finally receded altogether to make way for an impossible world.

One that didn't make a lick of sense, that by all means _should_ be one of the merging dreamscapes.

But the goose bumps on Gogo's chilled skin were undoubtedly real beneath her fingertips, and the cool night air felt like ice in her lungs. Everything surrounding her screamed _this is reality!_ but Gogo had never put much stock in trusting an unfaithful world.

"Don't say those things if they're not true."

She hadn't meant to hiss those words from between grit teeth, but it was cathartic to vent a snippet of malice.

Unshakably upbeat as ever, Honey didn't bat an eye. "It's true. Fred saw him." A slight wince. "He's ... in rough shape, but I've heard he'll recover." Then like the words were savory treats on her tongue that she couldn't relish enough, Honey all but sang: "He's _alive_."

Gogo could hear the cogs of the world's axis sputtering to a halt, granting her a rare moment of leniency to digest the news.

Professor Callaghan. Alive. On the mend.

What else was there to say?

"Holy _shit_."

Adrenaline was her drug. But traditional gambling had never done it for her. All monumentary, sentimental, built on a broken economy. Gambling with her own life, on the other hand, was intoxicating. Energy pulsing relentlessly through her veins until she could taste immortality.

Betting on another life, however—an innocent soul caught in the crossfire—quenched that thrill as soon as it sparked.

Gogo wondered if faux despair would one day make her heart give out.

"Jesus—how?" she choked, at loss for words. "The fire was brutal. Chemical spillage, or some crap; that's why it was so strong. How can they tell that it's him?"

Shouldn't the heat alone have melted his skin off? Turned his flesh into charcoal chunks? Reduced the muscle in his body into sloppy chicken strips?

_Don't you dare think about that_.

"They don't know how, Gogo," the blonde intervened. "Not until he wakes up."

"Oh, God. I ... thought ... " Clenching her jaw, Gogo looked down, finding her hands were trembling as much as her voice. _Calm down; breathe_. She clenched them into fists. "I'm making coffee. I'm not getting back to sleep."

She caught sight of Honey's eyes widening. "I'm sorry. I wanted to wait until morning, but—"

Gogo waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it." Then with the other, she switched on the coffee machine. "I'd have just been mad you didn't wake me." Within minutes, the kitchen radiated with the homely sound and scent of ground coffee beans. "Tadashi. Does he know?"

"He was the first one Fred told. Him and his aunt."

"Did it help?"

"I don't know. I went to see him, but he's denying visitors. His aunt thinks he's processing the shock."

Shock, huh?

She was getting a taste of that, too. Light-headedness, detached sensation of numbness, and so on.

Steadily breathing in the rich aroma of coffee wafting through the kitchen, Gogo sighed quietly.

What was there to say?

No really, she was asking. Being tongue-tied, dumbstruck, and all that nonsense had never sat right with her. But there it was, and Gogo stood in the dark room whilst the sun had yet to rise, accompanied by one of the chattiest, friendliest people she knew, and she had _nothing_ to say.

She licked her lips slowly. Fuck, it really was cold. Why hadn't she tapped up on caffeine _before_ braving the brisk dawn? Offered Honey a fresh drink, maybe ...

Nah. Despite the Latina's distinct lack of body fat, she didn't seem capable of feeling the cold with all the flouncing and prancing she did on a permanent basis. That said, it was embarrassing how Gogo felt confident she could count the goose bumps plaguing her bare arms, each one like an icy needle piercing her flesh from the inside out.

Ow. Seriously, _ow_. And she knew pain. Knew it intimately, like an old frenemy.

Yupp, a distraction would be very welcome right now—

"Lei?" a voice mumbled from the top of the stairs.

Gogo jolted back to her senses, which involved Honey's hand on her shoulder and white knuckles clenched around her favourite mug. Oh, right. Caffeine might do her some good right now.

She plonked her mug on the counter-top, on cue with the pitter-patter of Hiro padding downstairs and into the kitchen not half a minute later, hair sticking in all directions and one hand rubbing his sleep-crusted eyes. Odds were likely he wasn't even halfway awake yet.

Gogo raised an eyebrow. "What're you doing awake at this hour?"

"Bed's empty," were the words he spoke through a yawn. "'S cold. Why'd you leav—oh, hey." He lowered his hand, smiling blearily at Honey. "Blondie."

To which the Latina smiled as sweetly as her name. "Aw, hey!" she cooed.

Any attempt Hiro had at responding was butchered by a yawn. "You're not comin' back," he drawled. In his zombie-like trance, Hiro shuffled to nearest sofa and flopped face-first into it, mumbling words that Gogo vaguely identified as: "Wake me up when the sun is."

Typical.

"I wonder if how he'll take it," she muttered, prompting a bemused look from Honey.

"You're not going to tell him now?"

Gogo shrugged. "I prefer it when he listens to me."

For emphasis, both girls turned towards the snoring bundle curled up on the opposite end of the room.

-0-

It was ... almost the same as when he left.

As Tadashi stepped into his too-large room, he immediately felt the air thicken with claustrophobia. Evasive to the naked eye, but the space was smaller. Marginally so, but he picked up on the inconsistencies straight away.

Books hastily stashed onto the shelves, tools incorrectly slotted back into their box, an entire room haphazardly tidied up so he'd have one less thing to worry about.

Ha.

As if he could bring himself to fret about that, anyway.

Tadashi's attention zoned upon Baymax's charging station, tucked snugly between the bed and the bookshelf.

He'd stashed the med-bot there, right before the showcase. Along with a post-it note reminder to test out Baymax's mobility in tight spaces ASAP.

What better time that the present, right?

"Ow."

A quiet beep, then the whoosh of inflation. And then there was Baymax, as always, blinking endearingly from ...

... that very inconvenient location. Black eyes looked away from Tadashi as the med-bot briefly scanned his close-range surroundings, before carefully shimmying sideways, slowly rotating then side-stepping away from the shelf. Inadvertently knocking an entire row of books off the shelf with that one maneuver.

Tadashi wanted to slap himself.

How? Honestly, _how_ couldn't he have considered this? Didn't he add it to his notes somewhere? Where _were_ those damn things, anyway?

Yeesh, when the hell had he become so disorganized that he couldn't remember basic safety regulations?

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"Hello, I am Baymax. Your personal healthcare companion. I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said: _ow_."

He looked up at the med-bot, whose blank expression and marshmallow demeanor was nearly identical to as it had been three feet away. Up close, all those design flaws seemed highlighted by neon signs: the puffy exterior that would cause more harm than good in a compact space, the pushy attitude—seriously, how would _that_ aid a person in shock?—and the waning battery life.

That last one in particular had him stressed for months.

Marshmallow body and literal mind—problematic yes, but at least Baymax had a window of opportunity there. Not everybody would be in shock or located in a tight space, and those were areas Tadashi could code in to adapt. But if Baymax's battery gave out in the middle of much-needed treatment, then what was the point?

He needed the med-bot to last at least a day. So far, Tadashi was getting a few hours out of lithium ion. It wasn't nearly enough.

Gah, he couldn't think! It was too tiring to drag oxygen to his brain when the air was still so thick—a phantom burn of smoke.

He wondered how Baymax could have helped that night, say he'd been close enough to do anything. The med-bot wasn't fire-proof, but even if he were, the sheer heat and number of sharp objects riddled in every direction would have ravaged his vinyl coating.

That was of no issue. Easily replaceable and all. Baymax's inner workings were the problem.

Tadashi didn't need to run an official test to know that Baymax would have ended up melded to the floor.

_Pathetic_.

Irony was a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

Perhaps it was a sign that he had gotten too lax with his project, that he wasn't fulfilling his deadlines within an appropriate timeframe.

What better way to drill the severity of it into his mind than by having to stand by as innocent people died? People he cared about, who most certainly did _not_ deserve such a fate.

_That's not true_.

Tadashi closed his eyes, breathing in heavily.

_Professor Callaghan is alive_. _Hiro is alive_. _Everyone is alive_.

_Nobody else is going to die, not because of me_.

He couldn't save anyone. He couldn't make it better.

But Baymax could. He just needed the right upgrades; Tadashi had the means to do so.

It was time to get to work.

-0-

She was overthinking things. Again.

Really, what was there to complain about? Yes, the exposition hall was now a pile of charcoal, but there weren't any fatalities. Hiro and Tadashi, while not unscathed, had made it out in the best shape they could be in.

Physically, at least.

Hiro had temporarily retreated into a silent, antisocial shell that was finally beginning to crack.

Though no helping of hugs or time to breathe would fix Tadashi, he was alive. Surrounded by support—he had to make it through, he just _had_ to. She refused to let the alternative bleed into reality.

And then there was Professor Callaghan. He was hardly in tip-top shape, from what Gogo had heard, but he was alive. That counted for something.

When it came down to it, the only true loss was material; nothing dedication and team construction couldn't fix.

Speaking of the professor, that was a topic which went down unexpectedly well with Hiro.

"_Turns out Professor Callaghan's in the hospital_. _He didn't die_."

"_Whoa, for real?_ _That's awesome_. _Should we bring him flowers?_"

They'd decided on pink lilies, after a five minute debate. If only because there was an abundance of the things growing at the end of the garden. Armed with shears and unprotected by the sun's harsh rays, they got to work clipping off the best-looking flowers.

In complete and utter silence.

It was surreal, not knowing how to strike up a conversation with her brother, of all people. Frankly, it was ridiculous. This was Hiro: that kid who would stash all of her secret confessions aside for blackmail purposes, but who ultimately understood in his own, weird little way.

She supposed it was hardly surprising; neither of them had been in-sync since the fire, like they were moving underwater. But from the morning onwards, Hiro had been particularly distracted, as if everything and anything deepened the groove between his eyebrows.

Gogo mentally snorted at the thought. Already, she could hear Baymax listing off the direct effects of pubescent mood swings, including an increase in body hair and compulsive masturbation.

Ew.

_Not_ a mental image she needed. Maybe speaking would dispel the idea.

"Spill. What's ailing you?"

Doe-eyes blinked out of their daze and looked up at her. Slowly, the crease in his brow faded until Hiro slumped forward with a sigh. "Mom wants me to see a therapist," he muttered, then hacked at a lily stem with far too much aggression. "Thinks I'm at risk of PTSD, or whatever. I told her, it's normal to dream about it, but she's worrying like always."

"Nightmares?"

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. "Flashbacks," he murmured. "'S always the same: one minute, I'm back in the fire and I can't move. I think I'm going to die, then—" He plonked the sheers on the grass. "—I wake up. All the time."

"You don't think it'll help?"

"Do you think it would?"

"It's nice to keep your options open." She managed a small smile. "Have you given Krei a call yet?"

From the corner of her vision, Hiro stiffened as his head jolted upright. "How did you—?" But then he promptly snapped his jaw shut, shaking his head. "No, I haven't. It's tempting, though. You _did_ push me into this."

"You're selling out to spite me?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "A little. But it's a dream come true, Lei. Financial security for life, meaning I get to keep bot-fighting. And I'll be too important for them to smash into the wall."

"You say that like it matters to them."

The corners of his lips twitched. "You'd be surprised."

And there was the smile she liked; a sentiment that Gogo mirrored. "It'd make you kidnapping bait. They'd chain you to a pipe and charge me twenty million for the key."

Hiro had the gall to look offended. "Just twenty million, really?" He scoffed. "I thought I'd be worth more than that."

"See, it's that attitude that'll get you stabbed in the back by people you thought admired you."

"Oh, you mean like you? 'Cause I kinda figured that was the way I'd go out. It's why my first act as CEO will be to make an antidote to fatal stabbings."

"You could call it a bullet-proof jacket."

A mischievous, gap-toothed grin. "Forget the microbots, Lei. We're onto something!"

Minutes later, with the lilies bunched together and tied with a red ribbon that Honey left behind, Gogo dunked them into a vase before shoving aside on the counter, then a bike helmet into Hiro's arms.

"Here, put this on," she ordered, slotting on her own. "We're taking a detour."

Hiro glanced from the helmet, to the flowers, to her. "On the way to the hospital? Priorities, Lei."

"Trust me, it's important."

-0-

With the catastrophic rush of midday traffic in the mix, it would take an average driver half an hour to get from the Tanaka residence to the Lucky Cat Café. A motorcyclist would make it in twenty minutes, given the right skill.

Gogo pulled up outside the Hamada residence ten minutes later. She kicked her bike into gear and removed her helmet to indignant cries of, "You promised you wouldn't play chicken in the road!" as Hiro unwound his grip from her waist to stagger across the pavement.

Amusement quenched, she watched Hiro tug off his helmet to glare at her with eyes too deceptively innocent to pull off such malice. Besides, the static uprooting his naturally wild hair into something that gravity couldn't touch—that more or less doomed any halfway successful attempt of his.

"You wanted to get here fast," she protested, instinctively prepared for the offending object Hiro tossed at her.

"On the way home, I'm driving."

That earned him a hand scruffing up—er, down his untamable hair. "It's cute when you're delirious."

His frown morphed into a pout as he batted her hand aside. "Shut up," he snapped. "I need sugar. You're buying."

"As long as you don't throw it back up. Cass is a very nice lady—she doesn't deserve that."

Thoughts of 'that' careened Gogo's mind back to her sixteen year old self, who had stubbornly believed her wayward brother desperately needed to learn a particular life lesson early. An entire birthday cake plus a child with eyes bigger than his stomach, equaled a horrific puking incident that took Gogo a full day of scrubbing and the loss of an antique rug to take the edge off the putrid smell.

She wondered if her parents had yet thought of trusting her with baked goods again.

Naturally, Hiro grumbled, "Quit underestimating my stomach," as he marched through the open door.

Wise words of times gone by.

Gogo tailed her brother, catching him by the elbow and cramming him into the nearest vacant booth. "Here." She dumped a few notes into his palm. "Order something sweet. I'll be right back."

He had the gall to look displeased. "Whoa, whoa—you're not leaving me here, are ya?"

"Relax, I'll be in and out. You wait right here."

"He's my friend, too! Sorta."

"Sit."

Despite the pout ingrained onto his face, Hiro complied. As he peeled open a menu with more force than necessary, Gogo turned on her heel to swerve past the patrons and make a beeline for the stairs, ascending them two at a time until she reached the highest level where—

Oh.

Wow.

Gingerly stepping into the threshold, Gogo braced herself for a difficult session.

She'd been to Tadashi's home a fair few times in the past, but almost exclusively confined to the main café. Just once before had she ventured up to Tadashi's room, and only then was it a last resort due to his alarm failing on test day.

(He owed her big time for that one.)

That had been ages ago, during her first year at college. Back then, Tadashi's room had been immaculate to the point of creepiness—in what world could anybody in his age-group be that tidy?

T'was the age old question _before_ she'd become acquainted with Wasabi and his perfectionist routine.

But as Gogo slid the partition screen aside, the sight before her was unrecognizable.

Tadashi was a surprisingly passionate person, constantly nit-picking at the tiniest detail until every last scrap of a project he'd poured his heart and soul into had achieved nothing short of perfection. As such, his lab space often paid the price of orderly if it meant leaps and bounds towards Baymax's completion. But this ...

... oh, this was another level entirely.

Spare tools were scattered across every surface, blueprints pasting a thick layer over the original wallpaper, and the floors were composed of a reverse game of stepping stones. Maneuvering within the middle of the chaos was a disheveled Tadashi, who struck her with a flicker of déjà vu. Of times when the unshaven robotics student was thirty-three tests into the middle of the night, functioning on an unhealthy combination of caffeine and _I'm not giving up on you_.

It took a mild sleeping pill and a joint effort with Fred to literally drag Tadashi home for the first time that week.

That situation, however, she would venture in alone and unarmed with drugs.

Conclusion: it was going to be _painful_.

"Hey, genius."

Tadashi's back immediately tensed. He stood stationary for a moment, before peering over his shoulder with glazed-looking eyes. Had he slept at all last night?

"You had me worried. Don't you check your emails at all these days?"

He blinked a total of five times, an interlude that drew her attention to his eye bags and unshaven jaw.

_Christ, Tadashi_.

"I've been busy."

If Tadashi himself hadn't been too out of it to notice, Gogo would have felt a bit embarrassed at how long it took her to latch onto the fact that yes, he _had_ just spoken.

"Well," she half-coughed the word, "if you'd checked, you'd see they'd indefinitely pushed back the deadline. The administrators have bigger problems."

Here, here—was that a hint of a smile she caught? "Better late than never, though. You know me, I hate procrastinating."

Yes, definitely a smile. One that was bisected as Tadashi promptly turned back to his current project, wrench in hand.

The muscle beneath Gogo's right eye spasmed. Trying not to frown, she marched over to him, caring not of the disarray at risk of getting crushed by her heavy steps.

"It's not a delay." She snatched away the tool. "It's a vacation." And slammed it on the table top. "A well-deserved vacation."

For a while, Tadashi only stared at his now-empty hand, as if incapable of processing the newfound fact. Then he slowly clenched it into a loose fist before letting his entire arm flop to his side.

"Gogo," he sighed softly. He sounded so _tired_. "I have too much to do. Baymax's battery life needs some serious tampering with. I want him to last at least a day, but the most I'm getting out of lithium ion is a few hours. That's sloppy. I'm actually embarrassed to say it—"

"Okay, enough!"

It was an unwritten rule: nobody should be able to mimic the look of a startled puppy-dog. Yet Tadashi was looking at her with wide, hurt eyes and she felt _bad_. "Gogo—"

Fuck her short patience span. She clamped her hands on Tadashi's shoulders and forced him to hunch forward to meet her at eye-level, hers blazing with the essence of _just listen to me!_

"I'm not gonna pretend I know how you feel," Gogo growled, "because I don't, and I hope I never will. But you need to listen to me—this isn't healthy." He winced as she tightened her grip. "Quit being stubborn and admit you need help."

Fascinating, so it was, to witness Tadashi's eyes widening for a millisecond before narrowing with a touch too much fire. _That_, if nothing else, sparked something within him.

"I'm not a basket case."

He neither growled or spat the words, but they were as rough as Tadashi had ever spoken. At the sounds of them, Gogo finally relented her grip.

"You're not a burden, either."

Tadashi wasted no time in straightening himself up; he was a full head higher than her, but his crumpled jeans and cardigan sweater ruined any effect beyond pitiful.

"There are people out there who need help. I'm not one of them. I'm attending the school I've always wanted to go to, I have an amazing aunt, supportive friends—I don't have a problem, Gogo."

How many times had she heard variants of the same speech? All a watered-down, non-direct reference to the solid fact that Tadashi Hamada refused to play the victim.

But he was acknowledging it now. Or, to the closest point he'd reached in her years of knowing him.

Two could play at that game.

"Ow."

A muted beep and a whoosh of air signaled the awakening of the in-progress med-bot. Suitably, Baymax's marshmallow physique inflated a few feet behind his creator, who winced at the jovial greeting.

"Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion." Black eyes fixed upon Gogo. "I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said: _ow_."

Jutting a thumb in his direction, she uttered, "Scan Tadashi."

To which Baymax merely blinked before rotating his head an inch to his right. A brief bob had the diagnosis pouring from his voice box: "Tadashi, I detect low levels of norepinephrine, serotonin, and dopamine in your neurotransmitters."

Then a lengthy list of the med-bot's concerns of his creator's physical and emotional state since his release from the hospital, until he concluded: "Diagnosis: _depression_."

_Ding-ding!_ Make way for the elephant in the room.

Then a fist slammed into a stack of blueprints with a force that startled even Baymax. (As far as a robot could be as such.) The shout that followed certainly didn't calm jostled nerves.

"I get it, Gogo."

_That_ was a growl, rumbling from deep within Tadashi's throat, an undercurrent to the embers flickering in coffee-brown eyes.

Heat.

Scalding hot; chemicals infused in the purest blend of caffeine. A drug so addictive it was deadly from the word '_Go!_' and Tadashi only managed to exist via those flames. Energy sucked from the crevices of his body to fuel the motivation of refusing to play the part of that helpless child ...

"Eleven years," he spat. "It's been eleven years, I should be over this!"

Unfortunately, Gogo was stubborn as he was. And twice as persuasive. She met his fire with supernova.

"You won't _let_ yourself." One step forward, he took one back. "Look at what you've done, Tadashi: you saved my brother. He would have _died_ if you hadn't been _stupid_ enough to run in there and carry him out."

"Yes, but—"

_But, but, but_.

Enough was enough.

She hadn't meant to spit out, "Did you start the fire?" that harshly, but it commanded Tadashi's attention, nonetheless.

"You know I didn't," he said shakily.

Another step forward, another back. "Did you break the ceiling and bury Professor Callaghan in the wreck?"

"Gogo—"

Her tolerance snapped.

She clamped her hands back on his shoulders, squeezing roughly. "You did _nothing_ wrong!" Why was it hard for him to understand? "Tadashi, you made one mistake when you were a scared little boy. You don't think in those situations, you just act. _It's not your fault!_"

Then silence.

Quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Regret withered the tips of her circulatory system as she drunk in Tadashi's wide-eyed hurt.

It was like kicking a puppy dog. _Worse_—more akin to kicking a crippled puppy who'd just hobbled up to her with nothing but adoration in those adorable irises.

Then came the dawning realization of just why she was a horrible person.

What was she _doing_ there? Honey should have visited instead, with her aura sweet enough to gain cavities from, if not Fred and his outrageous façade that veiled depths of genuine support, or even Wasabi and his ways of overthinking insignificant details, which he often cast aside to reveal a huggable teddy bear it was difficult not to smile with.

They were the friends Tadashi needed. Ones who listened and actively helped to the best of their ability, even if they didn't fully understand the depths. Not to be yelled at in his own home.

Shame diverted Gogo's gaze to the wall.

"_Don't go_—_Lei, don't go! I'm not mad, please, I'm_—"

"_Don't FUCKING apologize!_"

She glanced back, just for a moment, and sorely regretted it.

Was Tadashi aware that his eyes could cut people down with one look?

His lips parted slightly, the lower quivering. "The fire," he croaked, "it ... it brought it all back."

No need for Baymax's unspoken diagnosis; she could list it herself across the lines of his face. Depression, PTSD, anxiety—

"It brought it all back."

Textbook example.

Tadashi went to put the wrench down, then paused mid-action, before pulling it close to his abdomen. Traced his thumb along the outer curve, eyes glazing over.

"I thought I was over it. I-I miss them, Gogo." Slow, deep breath in. "Aunt Cass has been all I need; she took me in and raised me, but—but it's not the same."

She'd always been adept at reading people. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and all that. Tadashi's conveyed his inner thoughts loud and clear: _does that make me a bad, selfish person?_

Instinctively, Gogo shook her head. Whether he saw it was another story; he closed his eyes tightly, a twinge of pain contorting his expression.

"I want my parents back, I want to hug my brother again ... I'd give anything to see them again, one more time."

She'd never been adept at the consoling lark, but Gogo would be damned if she didn't try. Hesitantly, she took the most non-threatening step forward she could manage, slowly extending a hand to graze Tadashi's shoulder. Although the muscle beneath his shirt tensed at the contact, she stood firm.

"I know." _No, I don't_. "Not exactly," she rectified, "but I get where you're coming from. I've made mistakes, too. Nearly cost me a lot. You just have to keep going, even when it seems impossible."

Those eyes again: _How?_

Black eyes blinked in the corner of Gogo's vision, a non-judgmental gaze silently observing the scene from behind Tadashi.

It was obvious.

A gentle squeeze. "You have Baymax," she urged. "In a few years, universal healthcare can be a thing because of you."

But then there was doubt; a crinkle at the sides of coffee-brown eyes.

Gogo sighed. "I'm bad at these one-to-ones, but Tadashi ... you're _much_ better than you think you are."

If only she could drill the truth straight through his thick skull into his stubborn mind. But for the moment, Tadashi was silent.

_Too_ silent, too still. Watching her with a child's uncertainty frozen in puppy-dog irises. She knew how to deal with kids—whiny little things who lived for attention and sugary snacks.

But this?

... she was clueless.

Before she could dwell on it, though, Tadashi broke the ice. He slowly lifted a hand to place over the one on his shoulder; for a while, he seemed to gradually reanimate at the contact before gently peeling the appendage away.

Then quietly, so much that Gogo nearly missed it, he said: "Can I tell you something?"

Unconsciously, she found herself nodding. Whatever Tadashi was prepping himself to say next, the gearing up process to form the words was visibly draining him.

"Sometimes," he started cautiously, "when I look at Hiro, I wonder if—if my brother would've been the same."

She couldn't help herself: "An irresponsible, mouthy little shit?"

A _definite_ twitch of his lips. "Isn't that what little brothers are for?"

As if fuel to the fire, Gogo's own smile materialized in unison with Tadashi's.

"It's nice," he admitted. "I don't have it now, but if I _did_, it would have been great."

"He'd have loved you. If you come downstairs and eat something, I'll let you share mine. Seriously, your aunt is at wit's end—think of her thighs."

Helplessly, Tadashi gave a weak chuckle. As Gogo spun on her heel and led the way downstairs, Tadashi uttered a quick, "I'm satisfied with my care," before reluctantly following her from his stuffy room into the scent of coffee beans green tea.

Discreetly, Gogo relished the satisfaction. _Mission complete_.

But the nano-second she stepped into the main café, she was assaulted with a loudly proclaimed: "Jeez, finally!" as a scruffy mop of hair popped up from behind a booth. "Why did it take you this long to bring me here? I could live off this stuff."

To her growing dread, the table was scattered with more calorie-ridden snacks than Hiro's noodle frame should physically be able to contain.

"Because I won't be the one paying for it."

"Hey, I've got my fortune from bot-fighting—it's time to make a smart investment."

"Then good news; I've got the co-owner right here."

Tadashi didn't have time to look bewildered before Gogo thrust him forward to almost collide with the table. She then slapped his shoulder and whispered, "He's all yours," in his ear before leaving the two boys alone.

She was in dire need of something deep-fried and smothered in chocolate.

-0-

What proceeded Gogo's absence was a _painful_ lapse into silence. As wide, doe-like eyes blinked up at Tadashi, the older boy felt his throat compress.

Jeez, he really hadn't thought this through, huh?

He knew Hiro, just not that well. The boy liked robotics and sugar, whilst adrenaline seemed as vital to his health as it did to his sister's. Meaning Tadashi had no idea where to start with the conversation.

Hiro, however, did: "Well?"

The one syllable had Tadashi tensing where he stood. "W-well, what?"

Large eyes, previously innocent and curious, narrowed accusingly. "I came all this way," he jammed his hand on the table, "_risked my life_ to get here, and you aren't even gonna sit down."

Nothing that cute should manage to be so intimidating.

"O-oh." And now he was stuttering. "I didn't think you—"

"_Sit_."

What else was there to do but obey?

In fact, Tadashi swore he'd done so without Hiro finishing.

"Now." The younger smiled. "Go on."

Right, right. If only he knew where to start ...

"I, uh, didn't think I was the guy you wanted to see." Obvious choice was obvious. "Honey might've mentioned you were down about me avoiding you, so I thought—you know, that you didn't—"

"Consider you worth my time?"

It hadn't been spoken harshly, but Tadashi felt nervous nonetheless. He forced himself to maintain eye contact, which Hiro upheld on his end as easily as his fourteen year old arrogance allowed.

Whilst Tadashi sat rigidly with his hands in his lap, Hiro used his to stir his monstrous concoction of whipped cream and caramel sprinkles (Tadashi could feel himself slipping into a diabetic coma just by looking at it) with a curly straw. A vivid, neon green one. For piping hot coffee.

_Whatever makes him happy, I guess_.

"Believe me," the younger went on, the tip of the straw grazing his lips, "if I wanted nothing to do with you, even Lei couldn't have made me." He sucked the straw into his mouth. "Not even if she had peanuts." Mid-sip, he added: "On shticks."

Needless to say, the action had droplets of coffee dribbling down his chin.

"It's a scary image." Tadashi shoved a handful of napkins forward, which Hiro accepted. "So, we're good?"

Hiro slid his mug across the table, crunching the napkins into a ball. "No way, you—you hurt me big time, Tadashi." His playful smirk ruined any intimidating effect he was going for. "You drag me out of a fire then don't have the decency to let me thank you? I mean, this is rare for me. I grew up with _her_." He jabbed a thumb in Gogo's general direction. "She made me the man I am today."

"Oh?" He was fighting a losing battle against that smile. "So that means I'll be popping your dislocated shoulders back into place?"

"Do I get lollipops outta this deal? Since I'm now an official member of the nerd gang, I'm gonna need brain food to keep up with the smarts."

"Oh, no. Nobody gets special treatment until Fred gives you a nickname."

"_What?_ He didn't give _you_ one!"

"And until he does, you don't get yours."

What proceeded was a pout that found just the right blend of comic and cuteness. Promptly, as Tadashi laughed as the spectacle, the knots in his chest loosened.

Only to relocate to his throat; his trachea felt taunt, incapable of producing words as smoothly as before.

"So, um ... Hiro ... "

"Tadashi, hey. Okay, I'll be the one to say it—we don't know each other. I don't even know how you met Lei if you spend every day locked up in your lab, but that's not the point." Without further ado, Hiro slid his now-empty mug aside, clearing the space between him and Tadashi. "Thank you. For saving me."

The tightening knot was beginning to pose a major risk of asphyxiation.

"I-I don't—" Tadashi paused. Inhaled, swallowed. Tried again: "Don't mention it."

Evidentially, it was the wrong thing to say.

In the space of a second, Hiro's eyes magnified to a comical proportion. "W-wait, what?" he spluttered. A pause, then his eyes slowly narrowed to a sharp point. "_Don't mention it?_ Dude, what _are_ you, even?"

Tadashi wished his answer was anything but an undignified: "Uh ... "

Luck, however, had never been his ally.

Traitorous being he was, Hiro's pursed lips twitched, betraying the meager hold on his emotions. He disguised his imminent burst of laughter by releasing it as a sigh.

Looking as physically drained as a college student did, Hiro slumped back into the booth. "Whew," he exhaled, running a hand through his mussed hair. "This is—wow. Big mess. Isn't this the first time we've really spoken?" At that, he smiled. "What d'ya think?"

_My honest answer?_ "Not ... a lot what I expected from Gogo's brother, I'll admit."

An unabashed grin. "I'm the lesser of two evils. Bad first impression? I'm just putting it out there; we can start again." With a smidge more tact to his voice, Hiro added: "This time, without all that showcases and the fire."

He followed it up with an adoring smile. One that rendered Tadashi incapable of doing more than blinking.

"Oh ... kay?" the elder boy murmured, upon regaining his voice.

"This is the part where you give me your hand," Hiro uttered in the worst stage whisper known to man.

What else was there to do but obey?

As if magnetized toward the younger boy, Tadashi raised his hand and meekly offered it out. "Tadashi," was the formality. "Tadashi Hamada."

It was difficult not to mirror Hiro's lopsided grin.

"Hiro Tanaka," the younger piped, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Nice to meet you, 'Dashi."

-0-

Deep in the underworld of San Fransokyo, in the shadows of a thriving city where the foul-mouthed vermin came out to play, a man was hunched over a battered desk.

Custom tools locked were locked away, for his delicate, hand-crafted toys served no purpose for a job his own eyes achieved alone. He trailed one finger along the edge of the yellow disc, lolling a cigar over his tongue as he grinned.

_Electromagnetic suspension_. _Zero resistance, thus faster bike_. _Remarkable_. _That's how she gets away so fast_.

He leant back in his chair, gingerly placing the wheel back onto the table, as though handling a priceless artifact.

_Oh, but it IS priceless_. _And the pay-off is imminent_.

"So, the kid wasn't playin' around."

The gruff voice broke the silence, a deep rumble in the crevices of the dimly-lit room.

"Fun fact about prodigies," another, raspier voice interjected, "it's not idiocy that does them in, it's arrogance." A lecherous smirk stretched his lips. "Hiro Tanaka, fourteen years old. Younger brother to Leiko Tanaka. She's a student at San Fransokyo's Institute of Technology, and he recently got accepted."

The opposite side the boy may reside on, but respect for ability was a neutral essence. "Then he's smart, not stupid." _Excellent_.

"I can scour the city," was the response. "In a week, we'll have every bit of dirt on those two—where they live, what they do in their spare time, the names and faces of everyone they've looked at—I'll have it all. And then—"

A clatter of an electromagnetic wheel against the wood-worm severed that voice, the corner of the desk snuffing out newly crushed tobacco.

"We find that thieving hustler," he picked up, knuckles cracking with relish, "and we make him _pay_."

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Remember a small incident who-knows-how-many chapters ago where Gogo misplaced a certain something? You didn't really think nothing would become of that, did you? :P


End file.
